


The Loves of Lucis

by starrynoctsky (lightinthehall)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood Friends, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Marriage Proposal, brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightinthehall/pseuds/starrynoctsky
Summary: Curiosity makes him reach for it, the title ‘The Loves of Lucis’ across the spine and two golden crowns overlaid a large heart embossed on the front.Dedicated to those who have captured the hearts of the rulers of Lucis.Ignis’ stomach flips.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 85
Kudos: 322
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	1. The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the amazing **silvertiger** for her patience and for the beautiful art! [Please check out her amazing piece](https://twitter.com/tiger_o_matic/status/1221265793012379650)! (mild spoilers for Chapter 6)  
>   
> Thank you to my lovely and kind beta _somestarvingartist_ for all her hard work!
> 
> Thank you to the mods for working so hard to bring us ignoct big bang! <

_There._

Ignis hangs the final paper star, hooking it onto the string connecting two chairs that he’d dragged to the centre of the room. He pulls the black bedsheets down, letting the flap fall closed and covering him in darkness. Within his makeshift tent, Ignis presses the night light on, smiling as the yellow dome of light catches on the glittered surface of the hanging stars.

Their own piece of night sky.

Ever since he’d found Ignis’ astronomy book, Noctis had been talking about seeing the stars non-stop, constantly staring out of his big bedroom windows. Unfortunately, the bright city lights of Insomnia don’t make for good stargazing, even from the Citadel.

To see the stars. Such a simple wish for a prince who could ask for anything within this luxurious castle. But in the past months of Ignis’ service, he’s noticed that Noctis rarely _asks_ for anything. He eats the food he’s given (even if he does try to pass the vegetables onto Ignis’ plate), he doesn’t make demands for more toys, and he doesn’t throw tantrums like the other children of nobles. The last time Ignis had heard him ask anything of anyone had been the time he’d held up a soccer ball and invited his father to play.

Watching the boy’s face fall when the King regretfully turned him down made something in Ignis’ small chest crack open. He doesn’t want to see that expression on Noctis’ face ever again.

For now, Ignis can give him this.

Straightening his glasses upon his nose, Ignis lifts the bedsheet again, glancing up at the wall clock as it ticks away, long minutes past the time Noctis usually returned to his room.

 _Where is he_?

Is he sleeping in His Majesty’s chambers tonight and Ignis hadn’t been informed? Different situations whirl through his mind, as he remembers his Uncle’s earliest warnings about citadel emergencies and missing princes. What if Noct is hurt? What if he’s been kidnapped by the Imperials the adults are always warning them about?

Without thinking, he’s crawled out of his tent and is halfway to the doorway when finally, a shadow darkens the gap beneath the wide double doors.

The door swings open, revealing Noctis clutching tightly to his father’s hand. They’re both in their royal attire, the small prince dressed in a black shirt beneath a rich waistcoat patterned with shimmery silver Lucian skulls. The short cape flutters behind him, long enough to reach the edge of his shorts, adorned with a golden clasp and thin chains dangling over his shoulder, no doubt to match his father’s outfit.

Predictably, the prince is shifting his shoulders, impatient under the outfit’s weight, eager to be rid of it all.

“May I take your raiment, Your Highness?” The woman behind the prince smiles kindly, bending down to the child’s level to accept the little cape with all its fancy adornments, folding it neatly over her arm.

“I can take it from here, Amelia,” King Regis says in his deep, rich voice, the same one that’s told Noctis and Ignis numerous bedtime stories. His crown catches the light every time he moves, the elegant branch of it shining above his ear, nestled amongst the short waves of his black hair.

“Well then, I shall leave you in His Majesty’s care,” she tells the prince, bidding the royal pair goodnight.

“G’night, Amelia,” Noctis says, hiding his face behind his father’s leg, no doubt ready for bed after what must have been a full day of accompanying his father. Ignis watches as the prince’s governess bows to His Majesty and bustles away.

He hadn’t expected King Regis to accompany Noctis tonight; Ignis hopes he won’t be sent away before he can show Noctis his surprise. Ignis stands a few feet from the door with his hands clasped behind his back, heart beating quickly as he waits patiently for Noctis to notice him.

“Iggy!”

The prince peeks around the King and immediately smiles upon seeing him, signs of sleepiness fading from his face as he lets go of his father’s hand to run to his friend.

“Are you sleeping over?” Noctis asks eagerly, looking between Ignis and Regis.

“Good evening, Ignis.” The King playfully pouts at his son who so willingly abandoned him. Despite his relaxed demeanour around his son, it’s still jarring for Ignis to see anything apart from the most serious expressions on the King’s face. “I see I’ve lost the battle for my son’s affections. And so soon. I thought I would have a few years left at best.”

Ignis’ face burns, and he can feel the heat rise to his ears. Regis is smiling, so it must be a joke, but he jumps to reassure him nonetheless.

“No! Of course not, Your Majesty.” Ignis stutters, then bows to the King, bending forward with his hand to his chest as his Uncle had taught him.

“I’ll go change into my pyjamas!” Noctis announces. Regis only chuckles at his boy’s enthusiasm and follows his son to the large wardrobe to help him change out of his regalia.

Noctis returns clad in his favourite goldfish-print pyjamas, carrying another set of clothing in his arms, the print looking suspiciously like tiny purple cats.

“Thank you, Noc -Highness,” Ignis says, hurriedly correcting himself as he takes the bundle of clothes. He glances up with dread, but to his relief King Regis doesn’t appear bothered by his misstep at all. The proper titles of respect have been thoroughly impressed upon Ignis before meeting the royal family, but Noctis had wrinkled his nose at the title. ‘ _Call me Noct. That’s what friends do, right Iggy_?’

 _Friends._ Ignis wants to wear the word like a badge of honour, his own little title.

“I see you’re having a camp-out tonight.” King Regis nods to the arrangement of chairs and blankets in the middle of the room.

“We are, Your Majesty,” Ignis says, stomach suddenly fluttering with anxiety. He hopes Noctis will enjoy the surprise. It seems so childish in the presence of an adult – the _King_ , no less.

“Wow – stars!” Noctis’ head peeks out from the other side of the draped blanket. “Dad, look!”

Ah. It seems Noct has gotten ahead of him.

Regis crouches down to look inside the tent, _ooh-ing_ and _ahh-ing_ as Noctis babbles happily.

“It’s wonderful. It’s something your mother would have loved, too.” Regis’ smile turns sad and wistful, while Noctis falls into somber silence as well. Ignis glances away, not wanting to intrude upon their private moment.

“We visited Mama today,” Noctis tells Ignis, reaching out from the tent to place a small hand on his father’s. The prince has always been sensitive to his father’s mood. They’re silent for another moment, the boy carefully watching his father’s gloomy face.

Of course. How could Ignis forget that today had been the anniversary of the Queen’s passing? While it isn’t a formal holiday in Lucis, it is a solemn occasion. The Caelums had made it a tradition to visit Aulea’s memorial every year.

“She’d spend nights in the observatory waiting to spot a shooting star beyond the city’s wall. She’d always wanted to share the stars beyond Eos with me, with the rest of Lucis. She loved the night sky very much,” Regis says, patting his son’s head as he speaks.

It’s something he says often, Ignis knows, but Noctis smiles every time.

“We grew up together, much like the two of you,” he continues with a fond, reminiscent smile as he looks over the pair of them. “We didn’t have a friend like Ignis to keep us out of trouble though.”

“There’s only one Iggy!” Noctis beams at him, and Ignis smiles back at the prince, face warm.

“I do my best, Your Majesty.”

Regis stays for a few more minutes, making the two of them promise to go to bed soon, before bidding them goodnight and leaving to attend to his remaining duties.

Now that the King has gone, Ignis changes into the cat pyjamas and herds Noctis into the bathroom, helping him onto the step stool so they can reach the sink to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they crawl into the tent together, letting the blanket fall closed behind them, shrouding them in darkness.

“Watch this,” Ignis says, clicking the domed night light on.

Noctis gasps as the stars shine and shimmer in the soft yellow light, smaller pinpricks of light reflecting onto the surface of the blanket to make even more stars. The reflected stars shine over Noctis’ happy face, his bright smile. “Wow! It’s just like the sky. This is amazing.”

“I’m glad that you like it.” There’s that warmth and wholeness in Ignis’ chest again, a feeling he’d been chasing ever since his parents had left him behind and moved back to Tenebrae. The prince’s smile makes Ignis feel bright, better than even the most profuse praise from his tutors.

It’s a cozy fit for two young boys, jostled knees and touching shoulders, ensconced in the warm glow of light and each other’s company. Sprawled on the ground, they flip through the pages of the astronomy book for what must be the twentieth time. Ignis reaches up to hook and unhook stars onto his network of strings as Noct points to pages in the book, trying to recreate their favourite constellations.

“How was your day?” Ignis asks.

“It was okay. Uncle Clarus and Cor came with us to bring Mama flowers,” Noctis says, gaze cast down. “I told her not to worry, that I was taking care of Dad. Then they told stories about Mama, about when I was a baby. Stuff I don’t remember.”

Noctis frowns, guiltily tugging his sleeve as he confesses the next part. “Everyone tells me I have her eyes. That’s supposed to be a good thing, right? I hate it …Dad always looks sad when someone says it.”

“It’s not your fault Noct. He just misses her,” Ignis assures him. He’s seen the old portraits of Aulea around the Citadel. Noct has indeed inherited her eyes, a distinct shade caught between steel-grey and deep blue, the hue shifting with the prince’s moods. While Noctis is undoubtedly a mini-Regis, Aulea had also passed on her slender face, her delicate nose, the slope of her eyes. It must be difficult for the King to see so much of his late Queen in their son.

“I guess… I just wish he would smile again like he did in the painting.”

“Which painting is that?” As the reigning monarch, there are numerous paintings of Regis around Insomnia.

“The one in their fancy clothes!”

Ignis thinks. There had been that hall lined with paintings he and Noctis had run down to hide from Cor. “Their wedding portrait?”

“Yeah. All the Kings have one. Which means they’re gonna make me have one too,” Noct’s nose crinkles. Ignis frowns, trying to imagine Noctis in royal wedding attire, his frown deepening further when he tries to imagine the prince’s future spouse.

“Yes,” he says slowly. “It’s expected of you to marry one day.”

“I don’t want to,” Noctis announces, hands snapping to his hips. “What do married people even do? It sounds boring.”

Ignis recalls his parents, the way they’d kissed before they’d leave for work or when they’d return home. They’d dance, cook together, buy each other presents. His parents had always emanated a bright aura whenever they were together. His Uncle calls them insufferable. _Together?_ one of them would ask. _Forever_ , the other would reply.

“They hold hands. Kiss,” Ignis says, trying to sound more certain than he feels, searching for the right words. “They’re best friends.”

“Oh…” Noctis says, placing a hand on his chin in a clear imitation of King Regis when he’s thinking. “That’s us!”

Ignis blinks, flushing once he catches on to what Noctis is saying. “Well, perhaps, but - ”

“I’d be okay if it was you, Iggy,” Noctis says, eyes shining with excitement. “Let’s get married one day like Mama and Dad!”

“Noct…” Even at eight years old, Ignis knows that there’s a lot to consider, mainly that princes are destined to marry princesses, and Ignis is technically assigned to Noctis as his future advisor.

But then he looks at Noctis, bright blue eyes brimming with happiness, and his hesitation starts to fall away. It’s impossible for Ignis to deny Noctis anything when he has this much _joy_ radiating from him. And… it doesn’t sound too bad, being married to his best friend.

Together forever.

Ignis smiles.

“Alright.”

“Yay!” Noctis throws his arms around Ignis. He clings back, arms wrapping around Noct’s small torso, proud that he can make Noctis this happy.

Noctis takes Ignis’ hand, holding it above the domed night light. He frowns. “I don’t have a ring.”

“That’s alright, Noct –”

“- how about a kiss?”

 _A kiss?_ Ignis makes a strangled noise. He’s never kissed anyone before. What if he does it wrong? He glances at Noctis, the boy is leaning forward onto his knees, eagerly waiting for Ignis’ answer.

“O-okay,” he agrees, adjusting his glasses, heart-thumping.

“Okay.” Noctis nods and leans in, his brow screwed with determination, clutching Ignis’ hand tightly. Ignis can hear the rushing in his ears as the prince moves closer, eyes closed, and lips childishly puckered.

 _He’s going to miss_ , he thinks in a panic. On impulse, he takes Noctis’ face within his hands and clumsily guides their lips together underneath the yellow, glittering stars.

It’s dry. And brief. And he’s not sure why adults do that so often, but he feels _happy_.

“Oh no,” Noctis says when they part, grin vanishing into a frown.

Ignis heart jumps. _Was it bad? Did Noctis change his mind?_

“Will I have to wear fancy clothes for our portrait too?”


	2. The Loves of Lucis

The afternoon sun shines brightly through the tall windows of the Citadel’s halls as Ignis turns a corner, shifting his heavy bag higher upon his shoulder. He’s made his way down this corridor to the Library of Kings plenty of times before, familiar with the way the dark tiles reflect the golden window frames that span the walls. The large archway and the wide, heavy doors of the historic library are a stark contrast to the newer parts of the Citadel, where the doors slide apart with a mechanical _whoosh_ as one approaches them.

With some effort, Ignis pushes the doors open with both hands; greeted by the cool, dry air of the library.

The world is quiet here at least, an escape from the other children’s taunting remarks about his accent, his small size, his glasses. They sneer at him when Noctis is away at his public school, or when the prince’s back is turned. He knows it’s unfair. He hasn’t given them reason to hate him apart from his sought-after spot at the prince’s side.

He can’t tell Noctis or his uncle though. The idea of dragging either of them into his mess makes Ignis feel sick. It’s unnecessary to burden them with this. 

His uncle had warned him about the greedy court politics. They’re no doubt goaded on by their parents, who are after the prestige and social advantages of having their child befriend the young prince.

It’s sickening to witness them surround Noctis like a pack of saberclaws, and it pricks at Ignis, makes him stubborn and determined not to let them win. Noctis deserves to be surrounded by people who truly care about him.

Ignis makes his way past the librarian’s desk, past the long reading tables to the tall shelves filled to the ceiling with books.

These shelves contain the largest collection of records pertaining to the royal family, the government, and all the other topics concerning the kingdom of Lucis. As future advisor, he’s likely expected to be familiar with all these books.

Perhaps he should feel some trepidation at the level of responsibility they’ve placed upon him when other children are merely concerned with their new toys or passing grade school. But to Ignis, it’s merely another task to be done, he’ll have no place at Noctis’ side otherwise. He won’t leave Noctis to bullies and fake friends.

He’s about to settle into his usual corner desk when a bright red book with golden lettering catches his eye. It stands out amongst the usual black and grey covers of Lucian texts on the book cart, cover stiff and the spine unbroken. Curiosity makes him reach for it, the title _‘The Loves of Lucis_ ’ across the spine and two golden crowns overlaid a large heart embossed on the front.

_Dedicated to those who have captured the hearts of the rulers of Lucis._

Ignis’ stomach flips.

He scans the table of contents: _I. The Founder King and the First Queen_ … _XXI. The Conqueror and his Prize Bride… LXII. The Just and her Shield_ … He flips through the pages, and each chapter includes a photo of the royal wedding, or a solo portrait of the Lucian love in question.

Heart beating rapidly within his chest, Ignis turns to the very last entry, _CXIII._

Regis looks happy. He’s clean shaven, making the resemblance between he and Noctis more obvious. His face is smooth, free of weariness, and full of love. In this captured moment, the King looks upon his new Queen with such joy.

_Regis Lucis Cealum and Aulea Lucis Caelum_ _(formerly Avonlee)_

_Eldest daughter of the House Avonlee, and childhood friend of His Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum. Considered a classic Lucian beauty, it had been no surprise when the two started their courtship after Regis returned from the Great War…_

Aulea’s wearing a traditional black gown, the bodice covered in flowery silver designs woven through the fabric. Her wavy, long black hair is carefully arranged, the pale skin of her elegant neck contrasting perfectly with the thin black veil attached to the crown piece resting above her left ear.

Her steel-blue eyes – _Noct’s eyes_ – are alight with that same happiness as she smiles at her kingly husband.

Ignis takes in Aulea’s delicate, pale skin and her ebony hair. Catching his reflection in the shine of the glass display case next to him, Ignis picks at the blond hair combed neatly over his forehead. He frowns, poking the flecks of discoloured freckles over his cheeks.

Ignis’ hand falls to his side.

_A classic Lucian beauty_.

Since that night, Noctis hasn’t mentioned the promise they’d made, but Ignis hasn’t forgotten the six-year-old’s words. He knows better, _he does_ , but there’s a small part of him that still hopes Noctis had meant it when he smiled and said they could stay best of friends forever.

But how could Ignis deserve such an honoured place at Noct’s side?

Trembling, he removes the glasses he’s worn since he’d been four years old. His blurred reflection peers back at him with bright green eyes. He doesn’t see someone beautiful staring back at him. Not like his mother had been, not like Queen Aulea. Not like Noctis. Just a plain face, a big nose, and pale, straw-coloured hair. _Four eyes, specs face,_ the children had whispered, mocking him. They snicker when he walks into the room, they whisper when he stands to give an answer in front of the class.

His lips twist. Their taunts suddenly breach the walls he’s built for himself, the echoes of those childish words cut through in a way they didn’t before. They leave marks where silent fears dwell inside of him.

_Inadequate. Failure. Impostor._

Their families possess titles, land, reputation, beauty and wealth to recommend them to the court. Ignis has… His studies. And his glasses.

And Noct.

For now, at least.

He imagines posing for a portrait with Noctis, older, the spitting image of his father, softened by his mother’s looks, but then the painter huffing at the sight of Ignis at Noct’s side, offended at the task of painting someone who looked so unsuited for royalty. None of the history books would print his portrait, he would bring shame to Noct’s legacy.

The sneering words of his classmates reach a crescendo in his head, loud and inescapable. There’s no hope for him to concentrate on his lessons now, so he slowly gathers his things again.

Walking back through the corridors, Ignis blinks back the dampness in his eyes. Maybe one day Noctis would grow up surrounded by beautiful, wealthy people and he’d regret the promise he made to Ignis, maybe he’d regret associating with Ignis at all.

“Iggy!”

His heart stops. He turns, hoping the redness in his eyes isn’t obvious. Noctis bounds up to him, school bag in hand and a weary Crownsguard member in tow. Ignis does his best to smile past the heaviness in his chest.

“Ah, good afternoon. How was school, your Highness?”

There’s a pause. Just a moment ago, Noctis had looked ready to burst with the details of his day, but wide blue eyes stare up at him instead. Ignis fidgets, fighting back the rising panic, wishing Noctis would not look at him so closely and hasten his fate. Ignis isn’t eager for the word to get around that the Scientia child has been crying. _How foolish!_ _How weak and undeserving_.

“Where are your glasses, Iggy?”

Ignis glances at the prince in surprise. “They’re – they’re here.” He’d been clutching the cursed things in his free hand, his tear-stained palm stuck to the lenses. He can live in a blurred world, if it keeps Noctis from sending him away.

Noctis reaches for them, inspecting the frames within his hand. He squints and frowns at the smudges left from Ignis’ tears and the fingerprints marking the glass. “Oh no! They’re dirty!”

“Highness, it’s alright –”

In vain, Ignis tries to stop the boy but Noctis uses his black shirt to wipe the lens anyway. Tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips, Noctis holds the glasses up to the light, frowning at the persistent smudges.

Turning to the Crownsguard, Noctis hands them the glasses. “You have glasses, too. Please clean these for Iggy!”

Ignis stands there, mortified. Though the prince is often doted upon and indulged, he’s never heard Noctis give direct orders to staff before. And all this trouble on Ignis’ behalf when he doesn’t deserve it. “Highness, really – ”

Luckily, the bespectacled man looks more amused than anything as he bows to the little prince, kneeling down to accept the glasses from him.

“Of course, Your Highness,” the Crownsguard says, producing a case from his side bag.

Noctis lets out a pleased hum and turns back to Ignis, pointing at the red book under his arm. “What book is that?”

Ignis glances down and flushes, tucking the book further back to hide its title. He hadn’t even realized he’d taken the book with him. “Oh, it’s – it’s nothing. Just something I have to read for lessons.”

At the mention of lessons, Noctis’ nose crinkles.

Ignis frowns to himself. Now he’s _lying_ to his friend. He just can’t bear the thought of Noctis seeing the book’s true contents. The prince would surely realize the mistake he’d made in choosing such an unsuitable future husband.

“It looks fancy. Does it have pictures?”

“…Some,” Ignis admits.

“Then can I help you read it?” Noctis asks, a determined expression on his young face. “You helped me yesterday! How many words do you think it has? Twenty-three? Fifty _?_ ”

To Ignis’ relief, the Crownsguard returns before the prince can prod further, holding Ignis’ glasses aloft.

“All done, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Noctis says brightly, rushing forward to take them. This time, the prince is careful to grab the glasses by the arms, and he holds them up, looking at Ignis with surprisingly imperious expectations.

“My teacher says that glasses are important and you have to take care of them,” Noctis scolds. “She calls them ‘ _spectaculars_.’”

Ignis stifles a laugh. “Perhaps she’d meant ‘spectacles’, Highness?”

Noctis pouts at the correction. “Same thing. Specs!”

“Apologies, Highness.” Ignis bends down low enough so that Noctis can reach him. After a few pokes in the cheek, then the earlobes, Ignis helps him settle the tips over his ears.

Clarity returns to the world, and he can see Noct’s proud, toothy grin clear as day. “There you are, Iggy!” Noctis exclaims as if he’s just found him.

Through his newly cleaned lenses, Ignis sees the smile that the prince has graced him with since the day they met. There’s that same joy, that same unconditional acceptance.

One by one, the bullies’ words fall away, his fears quiet, and Ignis feels whole. The entire kingdom could abhor him, reject him, mock him… but if Noctis would have him, Ignis would gladly stay by his side.

He reaches out and squeezes Noct’s small hand gratefully.

“Here I am.”


	3. The Queen Behind the Wall

“Ignis.”

_Upon the Imperial capture of Accordo, Queen Maceria’s homeland, His Majesty Optimus Lucis Caelum commanded the powers gifted to the royal line to erect a vast wall around Lucis -_

“ _Ignis_.”

Startled, Ignis looks up at his Uncle, putting his pen down atop the neatly scrawled notes within his exercise book.

“…it’s getting late, Ignis. You should go to bed.”

“I will soon, Uncle. Please don’t wait for me.” His eyes burn, and his head feels heavy. But there’s no rest to be found in bed. There hasn’t been, not since the attack.

His Uncle sighs. It’s been the same conversation every evening for the past few weeks - his Uncle with a concerned hand against the doorframe beseeching him to go to sleep, Ignis at his small desk, papers spread out beneath the desk lamp. “The teachers will understand if you need a few days off –”

“I’m fine,” Ignis says firmly. It’s rude of him, he knows his Uncle is concerned for his health. But taking a break is not an option. He hears another sigh, and the heavy tread of footsteps fading away. Already, he can feel the darkness creeping into the corners of his mind, the encroaching roots of _uselessness_ and _failure_ returning, threatening to take over.

On the corner of his desk lays a wrinkled sheet of paper covered in colourful crayon. Two scribbled figures, one in black and the other in spotted purple (‘ _because it’s cool, Iggy!’_ ), stand beneath an orange sky. Several spiky yellow chocobos surround the two lopsided rectangles that represent the Citadel.

‘ _Prince’_ and ‘ _Adviser’_ are written in block letters, squiggly arrows pointing to the two figures. A golden banner at the top completes the drawing with neat cursive: _‘Our peaceful kingdom_.’

Eyes blurring, Ignis lifts his pen once again.

_\- to protect that which was most important to him: his love and his people._

To protect.

They were supposed to be safe.

The shocking news that the last bastion of Tenebrae had fallen to the Empire had taken over every news channel in Insomnia. The footage had been limited, but the clips of Fenestala Manor in flames played on loop, alternating with the message that the King and the Prince evaded capture.

They’d been frantic all afternoon, his Uncle switching between calling the Citadel for updates and trying to get through to Ignis’ parents in Tenebrae. His parents … just as their call had gone through, his father’s voice ringing through the line, it dropped into a dead dial tone, leaving them with a tinny voice telling them the number no longer exists.

Tenebrae has gone dark.

Meanwhile, the Citadel is on lockdown, the Crownsguard on high alert, ready to mobilize should the Empire follow on the heels of the king.

The king who’d fled the fallen kingdom of the sylleblossoms with his son in his arms.

Ignis had seen Noctis today for the first time in weeks. The hospital bed looked too big, his skin matching the sheets in sterile paleness, the breathing mask obscuring the features Ignis had missed so dearly. He sat vigil for hours, only moving to bow to the king as he passed in and out of the waiting room between his duties.

When Noctis had finally woken up, limbs fitful and gasping, Ignis had been sitting on the other side of the infirmary glass wall, unable to reach him. He’d caught Noct’s eye in the midst of the rush of white-coated doctors and nurses and it struck him then that over the course of his absence, his friend’s youthful, shining blue eyes had turned haunted, dull and blank.

Ignis’ fist clenches around his pen. So, the Wise had raised the wall to protect his Queen from the Empire’s grasp. But what was the point of the wall if it can’t keep the most precious things safe? What was the point of the wall if Noctis ventured outside of its protection?

First the marilith attack. Now Tenebrae.

The wall isn’t enough, but then perhaps the wall isn’t the problem.

Ignis looks to the crayon scribbled drawing once more, the black and purple figures standing together in their happy world, free of pain, free of war.

His eyelids suddenly feel heavy; he feels tired, exhausted by the cruelty of the world. Noctis had never hurt anyone – had never even _dreamed_ of hurting anyone. He deserves the happy future that they’d envisioned.

Ignis pushes away from his desk, grabbing the drawing and crawling into his tiny, single bed. In Noct’s absence, he’d grown used to this lonely, narrow space once more, somehow still preferable to the vast expanse of the prince’s bed, the luxurious sheets smooth and undisturbed since the attack.

He burrows into the blankets, clicking his reading light on. It glows pitifully in the darkness, the batteries nearly drained. Ignis reaches beneath his pillow, pulling _The Loves of Lucis_ from its hiding place. He reads passage after passage. During King Optimus and Queen Maceria’s reign, they established the wall around Lucis. They’d kept the kingdom safe. They’d kept each other safe. 

If Noctis isn’t safe… then Ignis doesn’t see a point in a wall. There’s no kingdom without its king. And with no Noctis, then Ignis…

He clutches the drawing with one hand, his eyelids growing heavier with every page he turns.

When they grow up, he and Noctis would make the world a safe place, just like they’d dreamed.

Ignis would make it safe.


	4. The Alluring Baker

“Your Highness, I’ll be checking your blood pressure now.”

The small boy in the bed remains silent and unmoving, a mere doll in the nurses’ hands as she frees one of his arms to place the monitoring cuff.

Ignis sits up straighter in the chair by Noct’s bedside, lips pressed tightly closed. He follows Noctis’ empty stare towards his blanket-covered legs, the hitched rise and fall of his shoulders, and the nurse’s flurry of movements. The monitor beeps and Ignis feels a small rush of relief when the nurse nods approvingly.

“You’re doing very well, Your Highness,” she says in a soothing tone. She possesses a wonderful bedside manner, much gentler than Noctis’ previous nurse, but Ignis wishes she would _notice_. It takes everything he has not to jump out of his seat and yell out.

“Maybe next week we can stop one of your medications,” she continues. “I’ll let His Majesty know the good news and I’ll be back in the evening to check up again.” She smiles encouragingly at Noctis despite his lack of reaction, and she packs the various medical equipment away.

Ignis thanks her as she leaves. When the bedroom door closes behind her he immediately climbs onto the large bed, crawling over to the prince to tuck and pull the pillows behind his back. Noctis’ blank look twists into a grimace, brows drawn, and eyes closed, tears slipping down his round cheeks. Ignis guides him gently by the upper arms to recline more comfortably against the pillows and headboard.

“Noct… Why didn’t you tell her you were in pain?” Ignis’ voice wavers as he sits back on his heels. He’d wanted to tell the nurse, but he couldn’t force himself to speak when Noctis had been trying so hard to hide it. The thought of doing so had felt akin to betrayal of Noctis’ choice to conceal it, as inexplicable as that is.

Even though sitting by in silence as Noctis suffered in front of him had shredded his own chest into pieces.

Ignis’ vision blurs and his eyes sting with the threat of tears as Noctis’ small shoulders shake with ragged breaths and soft sobs. “I want to get better.”

“You will… but it takes time. They can’t help you if you don’t tell them what’s wrong.”

The blankets twist between Noct’s fingers. “Dad will be happy to hear I’m okay now. He’s got enough to worry about.”

And then, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe he’ll visit? Once he knows I’m better.”

Two shuddering sobs fill the room. There are matching tracks of tears upon Ignis’ face, his eyes overflowing at the prince’s hopeful words. He leaves Noct’s side for a moment to retrieve tissues from the nightstand, scrubbing the tears away. He takes a few for Noct and returns to the bed, patting tissues gently upon the prince’s damp cheeks.

Of course, Noctis has noticed his father’s absence. From what Ignis can glean from his Uncle’s conversations with the other advisors, the royal council has been working overtime in the face of the attack and Niflheim’s sinister advances. The ongoing meetings had kept the King from his son’s side, but Ignis has his own suspicions. Every morning, when Ignis arrives to visit, the sitting chair he’d tucked away before leaving the previous night would be back at the prince’s bedside.

“I’m sure he’ll visit you soon.”

“Luna…”

Ignis’ hand freezes in mid-air, clutching a damp tissue. A different sort of heartache seizes Ignis now.

Since his return, Noctis hasn’t mentioned Tenebrae very often, sharing only small snippets of his days spent with the young princess. Upon hearing a few stories, Ignis discovers he isn’t sure what burns more, the fact that he’d been absent from Noctis’ side, or that Lunafreya had been present instead.

After the attack and capture of Tenebrae and its royal family, they’d displayed her face, as well as her brother’s on the news. A beautiful young lady with pale, golden hair, a few years older than Ignis. She’d had kind eyes that radiated a solemn maturity and grace that befits her as the future Oracle, and Princess of Tenebrae.

Or… _Luna_ , apparently.

Settling his hands into his lap, Ignis isn’t sure why the casual nickname feels like acid travelling through his veins. Even during the worst of the bullying from his peers, hurt and irritation hadn’t coalesced into this caustic feeling threatening to climb out of his throat.

He hasn’t failed to notice that Noctis hasn’t called him ‘Iggy’ since he’d returned.

“Luna says that the Oracle and the Chosen King share a destiny.”

He can practically taste the acid upon his tongue this time, and he’s surprised it doesn’t come out with every word he speaks. “It is prophesied, yes.”

“Then what dad says about me being the Chosen King… does that mean I’ll be able to save her?” Noctis says. There’s a hint of renewed vigor beneath the struggle in those eyes. “And Ravus too, I guess.”

As far as Ignis knows from his lessons and his brief time in the Hall of Prophecy within the Citadel, the prophecy is vague at best. The infamous wall painting depicts the Chosen King dispelling the darkness, surrounded by the Oracle, the Rulers of yore, and a few figures in outfits similar to the glaive.

“And your parents…”

Ignis turns back to Noctis, eyes wide with surprise. He hadn’t brought the subject up with Noctis, afraid he’d only add to his friend’s burdens when the prince had already suffered so much. But… the truth of it is that Ignis worries about them each day. He knows his Uncle works personally on the Tenebraean cases just for a hint of information about his sister and her husband. There’s nothing they can do to contact them since Tenebrae had been cut off from the rest of the world.

Meanwhile, with Noctis back, and struggling right in front of him, it had seemed only right to shift his focus into caring for his friend.

He loves his parents, but a small part of Ignis is reminded that his parents had chosen to leave him. He knows, objectively, it’d been for the sake of his future but in the end, they’d left him. At least… at least Noctis returned to him. Broken and scarred perhaps, but Ignis still can’t help but be _grateful_.

“My parents worked in the embassy; they would have been far from the manor at the time of the attack. And their home is in the eastern quarter.” They’re the same words Ignis uses to reassure himself. “They’ll be alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Noct says in a small voice, renewed tears gathering, sliding down his face once again as he makes his confession. “I wanted to help them.”

“Noctis…” This boy. A prince destined to inherit great power, but still a child, wheelchair-bound and ill, against countless armed soldiers who’d been seeking to kill him. Yet all this time, he’s been piling the blame upon himself, the _failure_ upon himself, when even King Regis and the might of his armiger could not save them.

The cruel world tried to take him, but it hadn’t succeeded in stealing away the prince’s kind heart.

Grateful and lost for words, Ignis clutches Noct’s hand tightly, his own tears welling up in his eyes. All of his own stress, his fears for his parents, for Noctis bubbling up to the surface.

Small hands cling back desperately, holding onto Ignis like a lifeline, their tears staining the dark expanse of the bedsheets.

~ ~ ~

“You’re staring at that pot more than you’re stirring it.”

Ignis blinks, the steam is fogging his glasses, but he can still make out the bubbles rippling upon the surface of the garula beef stew. Frantic, he grips the wooden spoon tight with both his hands, moving it round the pot as fast as he can manage without spilling.

“Apologies,” he says, using his handkerchief to wipe his glasses while taking care not to fall off the footstool at the base of the stove. He turns to the kitchen island where his Uncle is chopping bright orange carrots and green peppers for their dinner.

“It’s quite alright,” Sol Scientia says lightly, though Ignis does catch the thoughtful glance his Uncle casts his way. Sol slides the vegetables off the chopping board and into a bowl, handing it to Ignis to mix into the pot. “Carefully now – very good.”

Small praise but Ignis stands a little taller nonetheless. “You don’t usually ask for help with dinner.”

Though the request had been sudden, Ignis doesn’t mind lending a hand. With his parents gone, he’s well aware his Uncle has to shoulder the entirety of Ignis’ care for the foreseeable future, and he’s grateful for it. Even before the attack, as ambassadors between Lucis and Tenebrae, his parents had travelled frequently. Too frequently to bring their son, especially when he’d started his studies at the Citadel. Sol has no wife or children of his own but has welcomed Ignis into his home with open arms, eager to help him progress as a future advisor. He doesn’t wish to be a burden.

“You seemed like you had a lot on your mind.” Sol keeps his tone light, letting his words act as an invitation for Ignis to share. “Whatever the issue, I thought I could help you _stew_ over it.”

So that had been his intention all along.

“You’re as terrible as mother,” Ignis chuckles at the awful pun. He’s heard enough of them growing up.

His Uncle starts setting up the table but doesn’t say anything, his expression open and genial. The grey fringes of his dark brown hair only make him more approachable. He’s waiting for Ignis to consider sharing his thoughts.

“What makes people smile?” Ignis asks, question rushing out of his mouth before he can stop it, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Adults are always insisting that Ignis ask for help should he require it, and he hasn’t needed it for his lessons or his readings. But this… this is important.

“Hmm,” Sol is silent as he sets the cutlery down, a thoughtful look upon his face. Even without prying into context, he gives Ignis’ query full consideration. It’s a trait of his Uncle’s that Ignis fully appreciates. “Smile? I suppose jokes make people laugh and smile.”

“That won’t work. I’m not… I’m not very funny. And I don’t know any jokes.” He thinks of the knock-knock jokes the King enjoys teasing Noctis with and cringes. Only fathers can get away with those. His tutors have continuously praised him for his serious, studious attitude. There’s no formal class on being comedic, nor is it a quality they’ll be looking for in a royal advisor.

“That’s not true,” Sol protests. “You’re quite witty when the opportunity arises. You’ve taken one or two of my colleagues down a peg before. I certainly found it amusing.”

Ignis raises a brow at that. He doesn’t recall doing anything of the sort. He’d occasionally offer up his opinion from the small writing desk in the corner of his Uncle’s office. The room would fall silent, and his Uncle would burst into laughter as soon as his office door closed behind the councilmen.

Whatever he’d said, he doubts Noctis would find it as entertaining.

Sol gestures to the pot gently boiling upon the stove. “Well… how about food? You can’t be unhappy when there’s good food present.”

“The prince has access to the finest meals and desserts in the entire kingdom,” Ignis says, dismissing the suggestion sullenly before freezing, wooden spoon stopping mid-stir.

He hadn’t intended to reveal _that_ particular detail; he can’t explain why he feels the need to protect Noctis from outsider scrutiny, there are just some things he’d rather not share. He thinks of Noct’s haunted stares, the way his toys, even his beloved soccer ball, remain untouched in the corner of his room. Admitting it out loud feels like a betrayal to Noct’s confidence and on some level, an admission of his own ineffectiveness. Noctis needs to rely on Ignis, he’s supposed to be the one with all the answers.

His Uncle’s expression doesn’t change. In fact, he looks unsurprised.

“But he doesn’t have anything made by you,” Sol says, as if it’s the simplest solution.

Right. What could he make that’d be good enough for a prince?

Perhaps sensing Ignis’ doubts, his Uncle wipes his hands on his black apron and walks over to the small pile of Ignis’ lesson books sitting upon the end table. Ignis’ heart stops when he extracts a familiar red cover from between the two large texts.

Before he can say a word, or make excuses for having such a book in his possession, his Uncle is flipping through the pages, rubbing his bearded chin as he skims the pages. “They may not have included it,” he mutters.

“Aha,” he announces. He walks over and dials the stove off with a triumphant _click_. He gestures for Ignis to join him at the dining table, laying the book down so Ignis can see the bulky armor of the Wanderer.

His Uncle points past Queen Lobelia’s section and sets his finger upon the small text box included in the corner.

“Lady Serena Avantus,” Ignis reads aloud. Braided blond hair, hazel eyes, and an enigmatic smile, the woman certainly doesn’t look like Lucian nobility. “I’ve never heard of her.”

It’s odd to see a third section – the biographies typically consist of the King and Queen only.

His Uncle continues to read, “It’s rumoured that His Majesty not only had a wandering soul, but a wandering heart as well.”

“On one of his many journeys, he’d become enraptured with the small cakes they’d serve him at a local inn. So much so, that he demanded to meet the baker, and upon doing so, came into the acquaintance of Lady Serena. If the rumours are to be believed, he’d stop by the town at least once a moon before continuing to explore the lands of Eos.”

Ignis squints at the page. “All that for cake?”

His Uncle laughs, eyes crinkling with suppressed mirth. Ignis has the distinct feeling that he’s missing something.

“You could say that. His Highness’ heart isn’t wandering, but perhaps he needs something that will help bolster his spirit. Food can inspire happiness… and wonderful memories.”

Yes, Ignis wants that. Wants to give Noctis a reason to smile again and again, one bright spot amid the darkness.

Finally, something clicks. The mention of desserts and travelling across the land stirs a memory in Ignis’ mind.

He knows what he can do.

~ ~ ~

Ignis clutches the carefully wrapped package in his hands, the soft _ding_ of the elevator signalling the doors opening. The section containing the royal quarters spans several lavishly decorated floors in the North tower. Noctis’ rooms occupy almost half of this floor, while the King’s extend further and encompass the upper halls.

“Good evening, young Scientia.” The Crownsguard member stationed at the door greets him, peering curiously at the wrapped box in his hands.

Ignis nods up to them. “How is he today?”

“We’ve been listening closely, but not a peep. Nurse said he was sleeping.” If the guard feels odd reporting to an 11-year-old, he doesn’t show it. “Let the little Highness know that we’re worried about him, eh? He owes us a new story about that pesky clown fish.”

Ignis nods again – he’s heard these stories too. But from the tear-stained pillows and twisted sheets, he’s not sure if anything but pain and terror will visit Noctis in his dreams any time soon.

Slipping into the room with his box, he closes the door behind him, leaving the room in near darkness.

The curtains are drawn, allowing only wisps of the setting sun peek through, enough so that Ignis can see the blanket-covered lump on the bed. Another tray covered in finger sandwiches and neatly sliced fruits remain untouched.

A pang sets off in his chest.

“Your Highness?”

The lump stirs, and a messy tuft of black hair appears from beneath the covers. “Ig… nis?”

Ignis places a palm on the light switch, Noctis shielding his eyes as the chandelier fills the room with a warm yellow light.

Now, Ignis can see Noct’s sallow cheeks, and dark circles beneath his eyes.

Setting his package down, Ignis seats himself on the bed. “Has the nurse been by to give you your meds?”

Noctis struggles to sit up and Ignis rushes to help him. A floppy-eared plush tumbles out of the covers. Ignis recognizes the small horn atop its head, the cyan-blue, fox-like body and the identical mini-charm it wears around its neck. A gift from His Majesty.

He eases Carbuncle back into Noctis’ arms, hoping the prince’s little friend had been able to keep at least some of the nightmares at bay.

“Still hurts…” Noctis mumbles, wincing as he shifts positions. He doesn’t elaborate further; Ignis concludes the nurse has been left unawares yet again. Hopefully he can at least distract Noctis from the pain.

“I brought something for you,” Ignis says, placing the wrapped box in between them.

“Really?” Noctis’ eyes widen, but his expression doesn’t shift into playfulness and joy as it once would have; he waits quietly for the unveiling rather than excitedly reaching for it himself. The differences from then and now make Ignis’ chest ache.

Ignis slowly unwraps the box, smiling as the prince pokes fingers through the star-shapes he’d cut out of the cloth. He sets it aside and lifts the lid, a sweet, buttery scent wafting out as he reveals six bright red jelly tarts.

“Those are - ” Noctis gasps.

“Your mystery tarts from Tenebrae. I… tried my hand at making them.” He’s only ever baked cookies with his mother before. This had taken him most of the day, toiling away in the corner of the Citadel kitchens, but he finally produced a batch he’s somewhat satisfied with.

He’d had nothing to go on except for a recipe he’d found in one of his Uncle’s cookbooks and Noctis’ vague description of ‘a weird but good berry flavour.’

Ignis’ nerves fray with every second that Noctis stares at them, silent and seemingly lost in thought. “These are the tarts Luna would bring after my healing sessions with the Queen; she said that she snuck them from the kitchens.”

For a moment, Ignis feels as though he’s made a grave error – the tarts remind Noctis of missing his lost friend, of _Luna_.

“I see – I’m sorry for bringing up such difficult memories, I just thought. Well,” Ignis bows his head, mortified. What _had_ he been thinking? The misshapen roundness of the tarts, the darkened, burnt bits of crust and the lumpy, unappealing way the filling sits within the shells. And on top of it all, he’s supposed to compete with the memory of a Princess.

“Owah –“ Ignis looks up to see that Noctis chewing slowly, crumbs upon his lips and half a tart in his hand.

Noctis swallows and Ignis’ heart pounds.

“They’re not the same,” Noctis says, and Ignis flinches like he’s been struck in the chest. Of course he’d failed. “Really sweet.”

“…But they’re good.” The prince stuffs the remaining half tart into his mouth. Relief instantly floods Ignis, and he watches as Noctis selects another tart from the tray.

“I – I must not have used the right filling. I’ll check around, see if the kitchens stock any other kinds.”

Noctis pauses at that, mouth still full of tart. “You don’t have to… who knows what it could have been? I never asked…”

“I want to.”

“Why?” The question falls out of Noct’s mouth with a hard edge. The prince’s sticky fingers twitch upon his lap, agitated about something Ignis can’t deduce.

“It’s important,” Ignis says simply. He won’t admit his true mission out loud.

Noctis stares at him, gaze heavy and somber for a nine-year-old. He reaches out and swipes a thumb across Ignis’ vision, the tip coming away from the lens of his glasses decorated in white powder. _Flour_.

Ignis slips his handkerchief out of his pocket. Flour dusts the lens, and there’s a stubborn streak of jelly near the bottom. In his rush to get to Noctis’ rooms, he hadn’t even noticed.

“…I missed you,” Noctis whispers.

“Pardon?” He can’t have heard correctly.

“In Tenebrae. I missed you.”

Ignis blinks away the sting in his eyes. Noctis seems to be rendering him speechless more and more often lately. Of course, he’d missed Noctis as well. The days had seemed dimmer, the Citadel seemed empty. After meeting Noctis, Ignis had forgotten what it’d felt like to be lonely.

Surrounded by his father, the princess and the people of Tenebrae, Ignis had never imagined Noctis would feel the same way.

“I missed you too,” he says, the confession lifting his heart.

“Oh I – almost forgot.”

Ignis slips off the bed and rushes across the room to the large toy chest in the corner. He shifts a moogle plush aside and finds the object he’s looking for. He and Noctis had used it so often during their sleepovers, he’d never brought it back home.

He dims the lights further, until all he can see is Noct’s silhouette. He hopes the batteries haven’t died.

By the time he gets back to Noct’s side, Noctis is audibly munching away on his second tart.

Taking the cloth he’d used as wrapping, he carefully arranges it over the dome of the hand lamp. Switching it on, the lamp glows, the light casting star shaped patterns around them.

The corners of Noct’s mouth turn up as he looks around in wonder, the ceiling above them illuminated by the center of a large star. The sight of it is a balm to Ignis’ aching heart.

He nudges the box towards Ignis. “Thank you.”

“You’re…” Ignis stares at his misshapen tart in his palm, hesitating before throwing dignity to the wind. “You’re... _berry_ welcome.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Noct’s brows twist as he catches on, spluttering out a laugh, and he breaks down into giggles Ignis hasn’t heard in months.

“Iggy _no_.”

His smile is brighter than the sun.


	5. The Assassin Queen

The buzzer rings and Ignis sets the broadsword down, his shoulders aching from lifting the heavy blade. Sweat drips down his neck, staining the already damp Crownsguard-issued shirt stuck to his chest. He combs a hand through his short hair in a futile attempt to keep it out of his eyes. His unkempt state pricks at his awareness as he turns to his observers and waits for their verdict.

“Hmm,” the Marshall says, making a note onto Ignis’ file. “Not the best fit.”

Ignis stares at the gym floor, the small criticism tacking itself onto his mind, a shameful reminder to be obsessed upon in the quiet of the evening hours. It’s ridiculous, he knows. He doesn’t even _want_ to use broadswords. They’re ungainly, slow, and not enough control and precision for his liking.

“Well not everyone can manage a sword like that,” Gladiolus Amicitia sneers from the Marshall’s side, then points his thumb at the boy sitting next to him. “Puny here can barely lift it.”

“I can beat you with it just fine,” Noctis retorts, swatting Gladio with his clipboard. Even from this distance, Ignis can see the paper is devoid of notes, save for a few doodles.

“You can _try_.”

The Marshall lifts a hand to silence them, leveling a glare at the two teenagers before turning back to Ignis. “You have impressive reach and mobility. Lighter weapons will complement your speed and manoeuverability. What do you think, Scientia?”

He glances at Noctis briefly. “Any recommendation you have is fine. Perhaps not the broadsword though.”

“Your Highness? Gladio? Take into consideration that he is to be part of your retinue.”

Gladio crosses his arms. “We need a ranged weapon since His Highness and I have got the front offense locked down. He’s got the aim. Crossbow?”

“You looked pretty cool with the daggers,” Noctis says, twirling his pen. “And you do have good aim. Could probably learn to throw them.”

The Marshall nods. “Having a ranged option would be good. We don’t normally recommend daggers for someone without warp capabilities since it creates too much close-range vulnerability. But you have the reach, and you manoeuvre well. Shall we try it? Highness?”

There’s a knock at the large gym doors, and an attendant steps into the training room, bowing first towards Noctis. “Your Highness,” he greets before shifting his attention to the Marshall. “Apologies Master Cor, the session with His Majesty has been moved, they’d like to meet immediately.”

Cor stands and sighs. “I’ll leave the final decision up to you. Once you submit the forms, we’ll get you set up for the proficiency training for your chosen weapon.”

“Thank you, Marshall,” Ignis says with a nod.

Cor dismisses them all and follows the attendant out. Following Cor’s lead, Gladio stands and stretches. “Well, gotta go meet Iris for lunch, see you guys later.”

Noctis grunts when Gladio ruffles his hair. “Yeah, yeah get outta here.”

Ignis nods to Gladio as he leaves, approaching the desk where Noctis has slumped back into his chair, arms crossed.

“Highness, did you take _any_ notes that aren’t…” Ignis pulls the clipboard towards him, looking at figures dual wielding daggers and jumping into haystacks. “Drawings from that video game of yours.”

“Nope,” Noctis says, taking the clipboard back and falling silent.

Ignis sighs at the abrupt response, sensing the prince’s attitude flaring. He’s still trying to learn to navigate the teenager’s moods. “Would you like to meet up after lunch with your father…? Shouldn’t you be…” Ignis slowly realizes what had just happened. “Oh, Noct…”

“It’s fine. Grab the daggers.” Noctis pushes his chair back, and stands, walking to the weapons stand without a glance backwards. “Might as well test them out.”

“Of course.” Despite longing for a shower, Ignis wouldn’t dare deny Noctis right now. As much as he tries to hide it, Noct’s disappointment is tangible. Unfortunately, there’s not much Ignis can do when this happens except keep Noctis company and try to distract him.

Ignis selects the training daggers from the stand, they’re heavier than they look, made to approximate an actual blade. He swings his arm out, testing his grip. They’re… comfortable. Basic training had taught him hand-to-hand combat, weaknesses to watch out for, openings to exploit. It would certainly be different when he and his opponents would be armed, but he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

Noctis is already at centre court, his own training daggers at his side.

Though he hasn’t completely recovered from his injuries after the marilith attack, Noctis has been training diligently to overcome the damage done to his back. He’s left with an affected gait, and occasionally experiences episodes of pain and fatigue. But Noctis has been training with Gladio and the team of physiotherapists working with the Crownsguard, utilizing different stretches and exercises to keep up his strength.

The continued threat of Niflheim has been enough to warrant the non-stop training for the prince, and it’s certainly showing.

Newly fifteen, the prince has lost the roundness in his cheeks, his baby features fading into the handsome features of a younger Regis. It goes well with his recent growth spurt – though he likely won’t grow as tall as Ignis has, much to the prince’s great annoyance.

Ignis already fields quite a few love confessions from the boy’s high school classmates, though Noctis never shows much interest in the pink, flowery letters that pass through Ignis’ screening.

If he’s honest, he’s relieved Noctis isn’t pursuing romantic attachments with his classmates. A love interest at this point would only prove a liability and a distraction from the prince’s duties.

Noctis lifts one of his blades, gesturing with it. “Try to hit me.”

Ignis nods, catching his own gaze idly wandering over his friend’s toned arm. Face warm, he redirects his concentration to the daggers in his hands, readying a stance.

He moves first, counting on his speed to overcome the prince’s reflexes, aiming for Noct’s side, but his blade is quickly parried. He tries once more, and the result is the same. He huffs, his lack of training is showing. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage here.”

“Aw, okay fine,” Noctis says, eyes shining with accomplishment. However unfair their match is, it’s rare for him to get the advantage over Ignis. “Just do what feels right.”

Noctis jumps and spins into an unnecessary kick-flip. His arm moves in an arch, telegraphing his shot, and Ignis blocks his strike easily. Grinning, Noctis moves again, a cheesy somersault ending with a thrust, Ignis steps aside and exaggeratedly leaps into the air, landing a soft hit onto Noctis’ arm.

“I don’t think this is the type of training Cor had in mind,” Ignis says, chuckling. “And I’m not sure if the Empire would care for our acrobatics.”

“Nah, but it’s fun. Come on, I bet you can come up with the most ridiculous moves.”

They chase each other around the court, trading blows and adding extra flips to their attacks. It’s not much of a duel, their movements reminding Ignis more of a dance as they step and spin in tandem with each other. A part of his mind notes the heat from Noct’s body is pleasant, alluring. He resists the urge to press closer, shaking the thoughts away, concentrating on their next steps.

It’s Noct’s laughter that pushes him further, to come up with the most ridiculous moves. By the end, Noctis is on the ground, wheezing from laughing after Ignis had tried to kick his daggers across to the round targets hanging upon the training wall.

“Maybe after some practice,” Ignis concedes, his foot throbbing where it had struck the handle of the dagger at a bad angle.

Noct’s still giggling, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, his shirt clinging to his torso, legs akimbo on the gym floor. Blue eyes turn to Ignis, summoning a sudden heat to his skin separate from their exercise, hastening the skip of his heart as he meets Noct’s gaze.

“It was cool to see you in action today,” Noctis says. “When you signed up for the Crownsguard last year… I didn’t know what to think.”

“How so?”

“I mean… you don’t seem like the fighter type, Iggy.”

Ignis is silent for a moment, contemplating how he should answer. His hands are clammy around the hilt of the daggers.

He hadn’t consulted Noctis about joining the Crownsguard. It had been a natural decision, a _necessary_ one if Ignis truly meant to protect the prince.

“…I joined the Crownsguard so I could stop people from getting hurt. Some things are worth fighting to protect.” Ignis bites his tongue to keep himself from saying more.

Noct presses his cheek against the floor, his dark bangs falling into his face as he considers Ignis’ answer. “… Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

Now they’re _both_ overdue for a shower and a meal. Ignis assists Noctis to his feet, Noctis smiling as Ignis offers his hand. Ignis is glad their little spar had managed to take his mind off of lunch with his father. As they gather their things, Ignis spots Noct’s doodles upon the desk, coming to an abrupt realization.

“…Noct did you recommend daggers because of your _assassin_ _game_?”

“No!” Noctis replies. “… well, okay. Maybe. So what? It’s cool. _And_ it’s a true story.”

Ignis hides his smile, shaking his head as the doors swing closed behind them. “Unbelievable.”

~ ~ ~

As it turns out, Noct’s assassin games _are_ based on a true story.

A quick moogle search reveals that the main character had been based on Queen Formosia, the wife of The Fierce, His Majesty King Tonitrus.

Humming, he slips _The Loves of Lucis_ out from its place on his shelf and turns to the page.

The Queen had a most interesting reputation. The Fierce had garnered the attention of many enemies, many of whom had made attempts on his life. However, these attempts had failed, thwarted by a mysterious stranger’s blade before they could complete the task, their bodies left for the servants to find.

The Queen had only been caught when she’d entered her sleeping son’s room, only to find a sword at her baby’s throat. As the servants reported, the Queen had forgotten all pretense, dispatching the man in quick, flashes of steel - with blades that had been hidden beneath the long sleeves of her gown.

_It’s said that even her wedding gown had concealed at least five hidden daggers._

Ignis’ pen hovers over the weapons’ proficiency training form. 

Perhaps there’s merit to the story. Ignis must be ready to defend Noctis in any situation, and daggers are easily wielded in enclosed spaces, especially where precision is key. Noctis’ enemies won’t always be on the battlefield.

He ticks the final checkbox, signing his name at the bottom. He’ll submit the form in the morning.

~ ~ ~

“Trying out a new look?”

Ignis jumps, whirling around to see a blond, freckled teenager in the white and blue convenience store uniform standing behind him. _Drat._ He’d forgotten Noctis’ friend from his high school (though Ignis wonders if Noct’s aware the boy had followed him for much longer) works at this store. ‘Prompto’ is written on his nametag next to the ChocoMart’s bright yellow chocobo mascot.

“Hello,” Ignis greets with a curt nod, discreetly covering the label on the box in his hands. A wasted effort given the aisle he’s been caught standing in.

Prompto Argentum had made fast friends with Noctis in the past year, an unprecedented occurrence given the prince’s reclusive habits. Ignis has read the citadel’s dossiers on the teenager during the initial background checks, and they’ve met during a few of his visits to Noctis’ apartment.

The Marshall had deemed him harmless, and he makes Noctis happy, which Ignis cannot object to. But Ignis is still wary; the prince has been approached by wannabe socialites his entire life, all friendly at first, and all false. Each encounter had left a mark on Noctis, furthering his self-isolation. Ignis refuses to let another person hurt the prince.

“Ignis! I thought I recognized you,” Prompto says, looking up and down the aisle. “Is Noct around?”

“No, I’m meeting with His Highness after his shift. I offered to walk home with him,” Ignis says, trying to hide the panic from his voice, returning the box to the shelf and retreating to the store exit. “He’ll be waiting for me. Have a good evening Prompto.”

His hurried steps aren’t quick enough to bring him out of hearing range, when Prompto’s voice chimes in behind him.

“ _Royal Black_ , huh? That’d be a big change.”

He stops in his tracks. Ignis’ lips tighten, and he takes a deep breath before turning back, regarding the boy with an icy look. Prompto is peering at the box of hair dye that Ignis had just been holding. “It’s not your business.”

Prompto instantly flusters under his stare.

“Sorry! I’m sure it would look good…” Prompto says hurriedly, holding his hands up and backing away.

It’d been a brief, foolish fancy. Noctis had gone on and on about his favourite character from the assassin’s games, some tall, dark roguish man that had Ignis picking at the strands of his lightly shaded hair once again. The words _Classic Lucian beauty_ still following him to this day. It’s silly, shameful and vain. Certainly not a conversation he’s willing to have in the middle of a convenience store. Brain scrambling, Ignis pulls the first explanation he can think of.

“It’s… the work culture of the Citadel,” he half-lies, thinking of the past Kings and Queens and their penchant for entertaining dark-haired lovers. Nearly all of the portraits in _The Loves of Lucis_ portrayed luxurious ebony locks. “The staff afford more credence to those with Lucian black hair.”

Prompto nods. “Oh, well that sucks. I bet when Noctis is king, he’ll make sure everyone treats each other with respect. He’s never cared about stuff like looks or status. I mean he’s willing to hang out with me. I’m blonder than you _and_ a total commoner.”

“…Indeed,” Ignis murmurs.

“Besides, you could probably take down whoever’s giving you trouble. Noct’s always talking about how built you are - “ Prompto cuts himself off with a choked cough and panicked eyes. “I mean. Nevermind! Forget I said that – uh please?”

“Noctis talks about me?” Ignis asks. The prince and his friend chattered on about new video game releases and high school events. With Noctis’ reluctance to speak about his duties, and as the one chasing after him about his duties, Ignis assumed he wouldn’t be a frequent topic of conversation.

“Oh he, well –“ Prompto flounders.

The word ‘ _built_ ’ fills his head and feeds the shamefully vain parts of his ego. Even after his growth spurt had shot him nearly a head higher than Noctis, he’d started off as the scrawniest recruit in his batch during Crownsguard recruiting.

And, that vain part of him speaks up once again, if Noctis appreciates the change…

“Hey guys,” Noctis says, suddenly appearing at Ignis’ side in his black server’s shirt, the restaurant’s smiling salmon sushi logo decorating the front. He slumps against Ignis’ arm like a cat demanding attention.

“Highness,” Ignis says in alarm, adjusting his arm so that Noctis can lean into his side.

“Hey buddy!” Prompto grins, bright and a little too wide. He could give their entire conversation away, but Noctis doesn’t notice, his muttered ‘ _hey’_ spoken into the fabric of Ignis’ jacket.

Suddenly, Ignis remembers where they are.

“Noct,” Ignis says with exasperation. “Did you walk here? I asked you to wait for me at the restaurant. Your father said that it’s not safe to be out in the city alone.”

“Mmn. I finished early so I just pinged your phone. It’s just a few blocks over.”

Ignis sighs.

“You ok there, Noct?” Prompto says, peering closer at his friend.

Noctis shrugs and yawns. “Tired. You got any curry buns left?”

Prompto cranes his head to check the heated display case. “Nah, sorry man. We’re all out.”

“I can make you some,” Ignis volunteers, already pulling out the thin black notebook from his jacket pocket. He checks the recipe notes. “I believe you have the ingredients at your apartment from the last time we went grocery shopping.”

“Really?” Noct says, looking up at him, the prince’s sleepy expression giving way to hopeful, wide eyes.

Ignis nods, smiling as Noctis lets out a small whoop. “Yes!”

“Let’s be on our way then. Will you be alright on the way home, Prompto?” Ignis inquires. “Will your parents be picking you up?”

At his side, Noctis minutely tenses. Prompto grin drops for a moment before he laughs. “It’s okay! The manager walks me home halfway. The rest of the walk is easy!”

“I can send a car for you,” Noctis offers. “You don’t know who’s lurking around at night.”

Ignis pinches his nose. So _now_ the prince acknowledges the potential dangers of the city.

Prompto waves the offer off. “Don’t worry about it. Go home and enjoy your curry buns!”

“See ya, Prom.”

Prompto makes the shooing motion again before returning to his cart of various chips and snacks.

Noctis straightens and walks ahead, a little spring in his step, likely from the promise of food, Ignis notes fondly.

The convenience store jingle follows them out into the cool evening air. The sky has completely darkened now, the narrow street empty save for a small group smoking beneath a streetlight. If they hurry, they can catch the next train at the station a few blocks away.

“Wait for me, Highness,” Ignis calls out and Noctis laughs, hopping onto the curb across the street to allow Ignis catch up to him.

“Highness?”

Ignis’ blood turns cold at the jeering voice, the men standing at the streetlight begin to stagger towards Noctis. Ignis is at Noctis’ side in an instant, hand gripping the prince’s forearm. He needs to get Noctis out of here immediately.

There are three men dressed in glaive-issued casual slacks and shirts, probably fresh off a post-shift bar run. Two of them are taller than Ignis, meanwhile the stout one in their company snarls menacingly behind his larger friends. Ignis assesses them with disgust. _All three are a disgrace to the service_.

“Whaddya know boys? We’ve got the prince himself here!” One of them points to the prince with an unsteady hand, the entire group reeking of alcohol. “The precious prince has come down from his tower.”

“We give our lives for your country, but your daddy ain’t gonna do shit about the homes we lost to Niflheim is he? Useless coward.” Noctis tenses, brow furrowed in an intense glare, blue eyes alight with anger.

“What did you say –“ Noctis hisses before Ignis pulls him back.

“Do not come any closer,” Ignis warns the drunken men, lips curling as he steps to the right, blocking Noctis from their view. Noctis presses close to his back, trying to get Ignis to stand aside. “Noct, let’s go.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it, fancy boy?” the tallest man sneers. “Just get out of the way, and you won’t get hurt. Why don’t you come over here, prince? We just wanna talk.”

The man shoves right past Ignis to make a clumsy grab for Noctis. He doesn’t get far as Ignis catches his arm and twists it harshly around his back, pushing him away. In his inebriated state, he stumbles forward before falling flat onto the pavement.

Now… now Ignis is seeing red. This man has just attempted to hurt Noctis. Ignis feels the anger flare out of him in hot waves.

“You fucker –“ The man’s friends run at him, and Ignis’ mind becomes eerily clear, his only thought:

_Protect Noctis_.

Ignis blocks a punch, forcing the heel of his hand into the man’s nose and then his unguarded stomach. The blows land easily, thanks to the uncoordinated drunken movements of the glaives. Even so, it’s two, then _three_ trained individuals against one recruit.

Thankfully, they seem to be too far gone to warp or to pull weapons from the king’s armiger. He’s vaguely conscious of pain striking his legs, his torso, but in his state of clarity all he can see are openings to strike. _Thud-thud-thud_ as Ignis targets their weak points, hits landing with brutal precision. The stout one pulls a knife from his jacket, the silver flashing as he swipes at Ignis.

He dodges the wild thrusts of the knife, bringing his hand down upon the man’s wrist and elbows his face. The knife falls from his grip and Ignis catches it by the hilt before it hits the ground, twirling it in his hand before pointing it the group of men, groaning on the ground. Fury pounds through his veins. He could use the knife; they _deserve_ to be hurt. They’d intended to use this weapon against Noctis. If Ignis hadn’t been here -

“Ignis! Ignis stop!”

He’s aware of the hands pulling him back, the red slowly draining from his vision as the threat recedes. “Ignis, Gods, you shouldn’t have – ”

“Noct?” He turns immediately to the prince, scanning the boy’s terrified face. “Are you alright?”

“Am _I_ alright?” Noctis cries out, shaking Ignis by the upper arms. “What in Ifrit’s abyss were you thinking?”

“Noctis!” Prompto’s voice rings out, and Ignis glances over to see the boy across the street, standing outside the convenience store, clutching his phone to his chest. “The guard is on their way!”

Prompto makes a move to run towards them, but Noctis shakes his head, and holds a hand up to keep him away.

“Noctis, you’re shaking.” Ignis reaches for him, and Noctis recoils and steps back, hugging his arms around himself. There’s terror and shock in those watery blue eyes. Ignis’ heart drops, his breath harsh in his own ears. The bright red of his outstretched hand leaves him blinking in surprise at the blood staining his own knuckles.

The sirens of the Crownsguard appear, red and blue lights flashing as the black crown-issued cars fill the street.

The Marshall steps out of the first car, motioning at the guard to secure the area. Ignis braces himself as he approaches the two of them. Yes, the prince is safe, but as a retainer and a guard he’s injured citizens and made a spectacle that could affect the Crown.

Privately, Ignis realizes he doesn’t care about that as much as he should.

“Are you alright?” the Marshall asks, the intensity of his stare never fails to make Ignis feel like a scolded child. Noctis similarly winces at his side. “Are either of you hurt?”

“Ignis –“ Noctis starts.

Ignis shakes his head, fighting the nausea crawling up his throat, offering up the knife to the Marshall. “I’m fine, Marshall. The threat has been dispatched.”

Cor accepts the weapon, gesturing for another guard to take it into custody. “Yes, Argentum has already reprised me of the situation. Good work protecting the prince, however, there is the issue of...”

“Cor,” Noctis interrupts, possibly the only person allowed to treat the esteemed Marshall so, apart from His Majesty. “Ignis needs a medic.”

Cor glances at the three bodies on the ground where a few members of the guard are already checking them over and securing their hands with handcuffs.

Meanwhile, Ignis is led aside to the medical van, where the paramedics fire off questions about pain and possible injuries. Noctis follows, hovering as they do a quick physical assessment for broken bones. When none are found, stinging disinfectant is sprayed onto his bloodied knuckles and his hands are wrapped in white bandages.

They move on to assess the apprehended glaives, leaving Ignis alone with the prince. For once, Ignis is afraid of what his friend has to say. Noctis rounds on him the moment they’re out of hearing range.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again.” Noctis glares at him, eyes alight with fury. More furious than when the disgraceful glaives insulted his father. “You didn’t need to step in for me. I can fight too, remember?”

“I won’t stand by and let you get hurt Noctis.”

“What about you, huh?” Tears slip down the prince’s cheeks, and he scrubs them away before Ignis can get his handkerchief out. 

Ignis shakes his head.

Weren’t they just talking about the Assassin Queen the other day? The lengths she would go through to protect her King? If anyone means Noctis harm, Ignis will eliminate them. It’s as simple as that.

The Marilith. Tenebrae. Ignis couldn’t protect him before, but now he can. And he will. With every breath in his body.

Noctis stares at him, the line of his mouth wavering in the face of Ignis’ continued silence.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis says, because there’s nothing else he can say. He’s not sorry that Noctis is safe, but he regrets causing him distress. He can’t promise not to do it again. He won’t lie.

Noct’s face crumples as he sucks in a shuddering breath, colliding into Ignis as his arms wrap tight around his torso. “You idiot.”

Ignis runs a soothing hand through Noct’s hair.

He breathes in deeply, the vanilla scent of Noct’s shampoo calming the adrenaline-fuelled clarity he’d been acting upon. He’d thought he’d begin to regret the violence, to feel remorse for having to fight the thugs off. But he feels oddly… calm.

Tonight had been a reminder that the world is full of those that would seek to hurt the prince. Queen Formosia had the right idea.

It has only been a few weeks of dagger training, but he remembers how comfortable that knife had felt in his hand. He can be the one that stands between Noctis and the enemy. Ignis can be the prince’s blade, cutting down any potential threats that attempt to harm him.


	6. A Most Devoted Knight

It’s quiet, save for the scratch of Ignis’ pen on paper, and the occasional crackling of a bag of chips.

Signing off on his second report with a swirl of black ink, Ignis glances up towards the sound of rustling junk food wrappers, tightening his lips in frustration.

He’s not sure why he even came tonight.

Noctis is lounging on the living room couch, flipping through his homework and pointedly not looking Ignis’ way. His high school uniform is slung over the couch’s arm, and the flashy colours of crumpled candy wrappers lay about the prince’s legs. At his feet, where normally there would be three-quarters of couch cushion space for Ignis, is a pile of textbooks that Ignis knows for a fact had been from Noct’s previous year of high school.

Though the prince has not resorted to retreating to his bedroom, his demeanour still radiates _Do Not Approach_.

Ignis sits alone at the furthest side of the dining table where he’s been apparently banished. It’s Thursday, which means Ignis only had half a day of lectures and seminars. Noctis also has the evening off from his student council meetings and after-school training with Gladio. This coincidental gap in both of their schedules had naturally led to weekly dinners together, most often at Noct’s apartment, where Ignis can spend a little extra time on cooking for the two of them and help Noctis catch up with the Citadel reports.

Of course, Ignis sees Noctis throughout the week to address other duties, but Thursdays are special. He enjoys their routine, and the way it guarantees time with his dear friend. Ever since Noctis had started high school and moved out of the Citadel, their schedules have become increasingly difficult to manage. Ignis is just thankful his role as future advisor naturally has him at Noctis’ side more often than most.

Today, their empty take-out containers are stacked near the sink, and they haven’t spoken apart from a few terse words here and there.

But it’s Thursday, and Ignis couldn’t bring himself to break this little tradition despite the harshness of their last words to each other.

Judging from the prince’s position on the couch, it seems that reconciliation is still a ways away. His chest is a turbulent mess of emotions. He wants Noctis to talk to him again, he wants to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, for overstepping, for upsetting Noct.

But Ignis is… he’s still _angry_.

_So that’s the only reason you’re here?_

This painful burning feeling has to be anger, it twists sharp, boiling into a temper that threatens to overtake his tightly wound control. His feelings have no place in dealing with royalty – his lessons have taught him that, but he can’t pretend Noctis is some distant royal figurehead that Ignis can separate himself from.

_Because it’s your job?_

For Noctis to say that, after everything… it cuts Ignis to the core.

Contrary to popular belief in the Citadel, Ignis is well-aware his position as future advisor doesn’t require him to clean the prince’s apartment, to cook for him…

It’s true that he doesn’t pick up after the prince because he enjoys cleaning, nor does he particularly like chasing after him for reports and duties. However, he does gain a sense of personal fulfillment that he cannot explain, and it eases his mind and his heart to know Noctis is well. Even more so when it’s through his own efforts.

He assumes it’s merely a habit he’s picked up from their close childhood.

His heart thumps loudly as he glances up at the prince again, the boy’s crumpled, striped, blue tie loose around his collar, widening to reveal the pale skin of his throat as he shuffles to lie back more comfortably against a couch cushion. As alert as the prince’s eyes are now, in that position it’s only a matter of time before he falls asleep.

Ignis’ eyes linger on that bare collarbone for a moment longer, before forcing them away again.

The prince isn’t the only one developing bad habits.

Well, if Noctis needs a stern voice in his life, Ignis will be that too. As painful as it is for both of them. He cannot afford to waver in this. If Noctis doesn’t accept his duties as prince, how can Ignis help him rule? How can they make the kingdom a better place?

There used to be a time when a chubby-cheeked prince would babble away at Ignis, crayons in hand, drawing a sun over purple, lopsided buildings. Ours will be a peaceful kingdom, he’d declared. Hadn’t that been their dream?

It’d been so easy between them back then. Now… these arguments and disagreements are new and terrifying to Ignis. There are some days when he can’t read Noctis at all, and every move Ignis makes feels like the wrong one, everything he says widens the distance between them.

He loops his signature onto the final report of the day and slowly gathers his things. The discomfort between them is so unnatural, and yet Ignis is loathe to leave, especially with things left unsettled like this.

He slips the last of his notes into his briefcase and stands, stealing glances at Noctis as he lingers at the table. Noctis’ eyes are unmoving, glued to the same page, and empty bags of chips and chocolate wrappers litter the couch around his legs.

It can’t be avoided. Ignis lifts a hand to his mouth and clears his throat, apologies forming upon the tip of his tongue.

The sharp, distinct _flip_ of a page is the only sound in the room.

Disappointment rends a tear into his heart – his hand tightening on the handle of his briefcase, Ignis nods and turns to leave. Not tonight then.

“Goodnight, Highness.”

“…night.”

~ ~ ~

Ignis sits back in his desk chair, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. The evening news flashes across his small television set in the corner of his bedroom, the anchor’s voices droning on in the background. He pushes the sewing needle back into its pin cushion, and he sighs as he sets Noctis’ school shirt down with the newly re-attached second button.

Another evening in Noct’s apartment had gone by in strained silence. Noctis on the couch, and Ignis banished to the dining table once again.

Ignis buries his face in his hands. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, but he doesn’t know how to breach the distance that’s come between them. For all his lessons in strategy, and his training on besting his opponents, there isn’t a guide on how to handle the moods of a wayward prince.

His mind wanders back to the prince’s apartment. Has he eaten enough? Has he gone to bed? Has the troubled furrow of his brow eased?

 _Ramuh above_ , he curses himself when he realizes his fingers have tightened into the white shirt, leaving unsightly creases over the front. He relaxes his hands, sighing at his carelessness. The garment would have to be ironed anyway.

He retrieves his phone from his briefcase, purposefully skipping over the notification-less icon of his messaging app, and instead scanning over his schedule for tomorrow.

His Uncle holds a higher position amongst the royal advisors, and Ignis has been shadowing him and attending meetings with him on most days. Many of the council meetings involve issues regarding city infrastructure, budget restructuring – but the war with Niflheim has been an increasingly frequent topic.

And yet _those_ meetings have been suspiciously disappearing from his schedule of late. Ignis knows they’ve occurred because he’ll find his Uncle and the rest of the high advisors leaving boardroom accompanying the King, his Shield, Clarus Amicitia, the Marshall of the Crownsguard, Cor Leonis, and the Captain of the Kingsglaive, Titus Drautos.

There are very few reasons for that specific group of people to meet.

Ignis could not shake the foreboding that he felt. The minutes from the meetings were kept under confidential encryption, and Noctis had previously mentioned his father avoiding the topic during their dinners. Ignis had even inquired with Gladio, and despite the obvious worry lingering in the back of the Shield’s mind, he had rebuffed him – _they’ll tell us when we need to know_.

Being left in the dark – it’s infuriating. Ignis can’t do his job in the dark, he can’t protect Noctis this way.

The unknown adds an urgency to his stress, pressure for Ignis to fulfill his duty. If Noctis will ever speak to him again.

He shakes his head. He will fix things with Noctis first… investigate military secrets later.

He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a faded red book beneath the neatly stacked papers and office supplies. Ignis flips through the pages out of habit. The words and photos are well-known to him now, the royals and their stories of love are a familiar comfort that he refuses to analyze too closely. It’s nothing to do with the memories of a childish kiss.

He pauses on the double page spread of a masked figure standing tall and elegant in front of the throne, the delicately horned Lucian crown curving out from the edge of the mask. It reminds Ignis of the elaborate, costumed masks worn during masquerade balls – painted a porcelain white, thin gold outlining the black diamond patterns around the slanted gaps for her eyes. The collar of her floor-length gown rises high, nearly to the golden point of her obscured chin, emphasizing the bold black paint upon her lips.

Another figure is bowed before the Queen, fist over his heart, clad in a stiff black outfit with the hood shadowing his face – the long jacket and the tall boots markers of the future glaive uniform.

As a child, it’d always struck Ignis as unsettling that neither of their faces are visible to the reader.

_Crepera Lucis Caelum and her Knight, Veritius Lucis Caelum (formerly Pietia)_

_Surrounded by conspirers and opposition, Crepera infamously ruled behind a mask, hiding her true face from all but one – her personal, devoted knight, and later, chosen consort, Veritius Pietia._

Though Ignis can’t see their eyes, it’s clear that the two held each other within their respective hidden gazes. As if nothing else in the world existed.

He still finds it unsettling, but now, he can recognize the intimacy of the portrait, the unspoken understanding and devotion shared between them.

Veritius had been the only one allowed to see past Crepera’s mask, to know her true self. She trusted him like no other in the entire kingdom.

Ignis’ chest aches with want. He wants to hold that place in Noctis’ life. What kind of advisor would he be if Noctis didn’t trust him implicitly – if Ignis could not understand Noctis better than anyone else?

And after growing up with Noctis so closely, Ignis would have said that had been true, if it hadn’t been for recent events…

_“Ah! Now for a lovely scene outside the Citadel earlier this afternoon. His Highness, Prince Noctis, with His Majesty…”_

Ignis automatically turns to the television screen as the news feed cuts to a shot of Noctis and his father on the steps of the Citadel, surrounded by their usual retinue of Crownsguard. The group descends the stairs at a slower pace than usual, no doubt out of consideration for Regis’ knee. Noctis is trailing a few steps behind the King, and the camera zooms in when the prince jogs up to his father’s side, holding an arm out to him.

At their side, a flash of Clarus’ amused smile is caught on camera. Regis levels a dry look at his son before the man accepts, patting Noctis’ arm as they ascend the stairs together. In the background, the newscasters are excitedly chattering about the regal, handsome pair, when Noctis turns to face the camera – a reporter no doubt calling for his attention.

Loud cheers erupt when the prince graces them with a small smile and a wave – one part of diplomacy that Ignis did _not_ have to teach Noct – before turning away again.

The video cuts to the news anchors, still excitedly talking about the charming scene.

Ignis stares at the screen, mind racing. Of course, the public hadn’t noticed. There had been a split second when Noctis had turned back to his father, smile slipping off his face to match the somber, hurting expression in his eyes that he hasn’t found a way to hide.

Not from Ignis.

… he’s been a fool.

~ ~ ~

It’s Saturday.

Ignis walks into the dark apartment, placing the silver gift bag onto the dining table. It’s been a while since he’d entered this space without a briefcase in tow. It’s surprisingly tidy in the apartment, the floor is mostly clear of junk, and the kitchen counter is free of used dishes, save for another of Noct’s pans soaking in the sink. The sight of the burnt remains makes Ignis sigh with fond exasperation.

Noctis likely wouldn’t be returning from training with Gladio and Clarus until after dinner.

Rescheduling his violin rehearsal and his own guard training had been easy enough, so Ignis had spent the day borrowing one of the ovens in the Citadel kitchens. He’s especially proud of how flaky the pastries are today, and he’s added honey to the kupoberry filling this time, if simply to appeal to Noct’s sweet tooth.

In fact, some whipped cream wouldn’t go astray.

There’s no time to make any from scratch, and Ignis doubts the contents of Noct’s fridge could supply his needs today. Though, if he recalls correctly, Noctis should have an open can from when Ignis had made chocolate chip pancakes for dinner last month.

Opening the fridge, Ignis discovers it’s as empty as he’d feared, apart from the large black box sitting on the top shelf, with a familiar white text logo covering the front.

 _Ebony_.

An entire unopened case of it. The drink is far from Noctis’ favourite – not enough sugar, Ignis suspects – so there really is only one reason for Noctis to have it.

Ignis’ heart skips a few beats, and he wonders how long Noctis has had the coffee in the fridge. Ignis hadn’t checked the fridge the last time he’d been here, enduring the unbearable silence between them.

The front door opens and shuts behind him, and Ignis freezes. He turns around just as Noctis entering the room with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, the prince looking just as surprised to see Ignis in the middle of his kitchen, rooting around his fridge.

“It’s Saturday,” Noctis blurts out. His short, black hair lies flatter than normal, a few strands stuck to the side of his cheek, likely still damp from the training room showers. Ignis ignores the urge to brush them back behind his ear.

“Yes.” All of Ignis’ carefully planned words have disappeared, and he straightens up, closing the refrigerator door and clearing his throat. “I cleared my schedule.”

“You –“ Noctis continues in a shocked tone that Ignis can’t understand. While he keeps a busy schedule, his priority is Noctis first and foremost. He’d gladly have cleared any day if Noctis requested it. If Noct needed him.

The prince sets his bag down in the hallway, and the two of them stare at each other. This is the most they’ve spoken to each other in the past two weeks. It seems Ignis’ unannounced arrival has made them both forget about their ongoing silence.

It takes only a moment for Ignis to pick up on the slumped posture and the slight limp in his gait. The prince must have overdone it during training again, something Ignis will have a word with Gladio about. On top of that, there’s the exhaustion and the darkened areas beneath Noctis’ eyes that speak of multiple nights with little sleep.

Now that the shock is wearing off, the vulnerability fades as Noct’s expression goes carefully blank.

One by one his emotions are hidden away, his lips firming into a neutral line, his brow relaxing, his true face slipping behind a mask that Ignis should have seen through since their argument.

Except for his eyes, which still hold a flicker of grief in their blue depths. For once, Ignis is grateful Noct hasn’t mastered this aspect of diplomacy.

Noctis’ eyes slide behind Ignis, to the box of Ebony sitting in the fridge, an endearing blush of red flooding his cheeks.

“…m’sleepy…” Noctis breaks eye contact and heads straight into the living room. Alarms sound within Ignis’ head, urging him into action – he knows that as soon as Noctis reaches the couch that they won’t have a chance to fix things tonight.

“Noctis, wait –” Ignis rounds the counter just as Noctis pauses to peer into the gift bag on the dining table.

“Pastries?” Noctis asks. Ignis sighs in relief.

“Not a new flavour today, I’m afraid,” Ignis says, stepping forward. “But since I… had time… Well, the market had fresh kupoberries.”

Noctis nods. “I’ll get some plates.”

Once his back is turned, reaching up into the cupboards, Noctis adds, “Coffee’s for you. If you want…”

Ignis’ mouth turns up in a soft smile. He’d suspected as much, but… what a relief that he hadn’t been the only one looking for reconciliation.

“As always, if I ever turn down Ebony, please dispatch the impostor immediately,” Ignis says lightly, as he passes the prince on the way back to the fridge. He catches the tilt of Noct’s smile as they circle around each other in the kitchen the way Eos revolves around the sun.

Accepting the plates from Noctis, Ignis plates two red-centered tarts for each of them and deliberately pulls out a chair for himself – once again the furthest one from the couch, hoping Noctis would take the seat across from him today.

Plate in hand, Noctis hesitates before moving away. Disappointment is cold as frost in Ignis’ lungs, until Noctis sets his plate down upon the opposite end of the dining table with a small _tink_.

“Maybe we could sit… here,” Noctis mumbles, eyes fixed on the dining table’s wooden surface as he takes a seat, the chair closest to the couch.

The middle ground.

“As you wish.” Ignis brings his pastries and chilled can of Ebony along, settling into the seat across from Noctis.

As usual, he waits for Noctis to take the first bite, watching the way his eyelashes flutter to the tops of his cheeks as his mouth closes over the dessert. And of course, the pleased mumble of “S’good” with a mouth half full of tart.

It’s a satisfying high unlike any other. Ignis doubts stimulants could make him feel as good as this, watching the enjoyment and pleasure play across Noctis’ face, a product of Ignis’ own efforts.

“Ah – I’ve forgotten the whipped cream –“

Noctis shakes his head and waves him off. “Nah. It’s fine as is.”

“I see. I’m glad to hear it.” Ignis nods stiffly and tries one for himself. He has to admit he’s done well with the flaky texture of the shell, and the balance of tang and sweetness he’d managed to achieve.

“You haven’t made these in a while,” Noctis says, pushing his empty plate aside, a small smile upon his lips, the lightest dusting of powdered sugar in the corner of his mouth.

“Oh?” Ignis tries to think back to when he’d last prepared them. He usually makes the attempt to re-create Noct’s memorable dessert every month or so, if only to lift Noct’s spirits amidst the endless barrage of school, training, and royal duties.

“Not since…”

Ah. Not since before the last time they’d argued, after Ignis’ words were met with frustration and one of Noct’s couch cushions hit the wall.

Ignis had thought their reconciliation over cup noodles had helped settle things between them, but perhaps Noctis still carried lingering doubts since that night.

“You’re right, it’s been so busy, I hardly realized…” Ignis says, trailing off when he sees Noct’s gaze drop down to his plate.

“What’s wrong, Noct?”

Noctis’ shoulders fall, curling in on himself, the mask that Ignis longs to tear away re-shaping into an impenetrable wall. “It’s nothing.”

He steels himself, willing himself to insist despite the prince’s body language screaming at him to drop the subject.

“Based on the past few weeks, it must be something.”

Noctis looks so small, more so than usual when his arms come up to wrap around himself. Lonely and desolate, the way that he gets when the King has cancelled their dinners week after week.

“…listen, I know you have a lot going on. I get that. But you haven’t really been around lately.”

That takes Ignis by surprise. His mind reels – he sees Noctis daily. He’s at the apartment at least four times a week for debrief sessions, in addition to his other duties. “Highness… if you’d like, I can arrange –”

That merely draws Noct’s ire.

“ _No_. Nevermind, Ignis. It’s fine.” There’s a cold, sharp edge in his voice that cuts Ignis apart. He looks helplessly over to his friend, feeling like his chance to bridge this gap is slipping away.

Suddenly, he’s reminded of Crepera and Veritius’ portrait, and Ignis stands, rounding the table to Noctis.

He takes Noctis’ hand before he can think twice about it, and lowers himself to one knee, kneeling before him. He squeezes the prince’s hand gently until Noctis’ wide, crystal blue eyes land on his.

“Please… tell me what’s wrong. Please don’t hide from me, Noctis.”

“I didn’t. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You,” Ignis says softly, surely, “are never a bother, Noct. Not to me.”

Noct’s eyes shine, and the mask falls away piece by piece, the wall between them crumbling, leaving Ignis with the boy he ran around the citadel with as children.

“Do you want to be here Ignis?”

His chest aches, as if thin cracks are forming upon the surface of his heart, and Ignis squeezes his hand again. “There’s no other place I’d rather be,” Ignis says honestly, choosing not to examine the true extent and depth to his words.

“I know you work hard, you always have. You’re going to be my advisor when I’m King, and you’re. You feel. Responsible for me. And I’m not…” He laughs then. “I’m not exactly an easy charge. But… we were friends first. You used to hang out with me for fun, and not just to hand over lectures and paperwork. And not because of some _schedule_. It’s just sometimes – sometimes, I miss my friend.”

Ignis’ chest fractures further. All this time, while Ignis had been _pleased_ that his schedule intertwined with Noctis’ so nicely, Noctis had thought Ignis had been _on the clock_. “Noct,” he croaks out. “I’m here, I’ve always been…”

“I’m your friend first. Before anything. I’m here for you.” His mind is a jumble of reassuring devotion, words fighting to escape. None of them are adequate. Or appropriate.

After a pause he tries for a lighter track of conversation. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but the Crown doesn’t pay me to spend my evenings with you, or to make your favourite desserts.”

Noctis swallows thickly and forces a laugh. “Sounds like a bad deal.”

Ignis snorts. “It’s not payment that I seek.”

Noct’s eyes meet his once again, gleaming with curiosity. The intensity of the prince’s gaze makes Ignis feels caught out. Perhaps he’s said too much.

“M’tired,” Noctis announces, standing and dragging Ignis up with him. “Nap time, Specs.”

“Oh?” Ignis raises an eyebrow at the sudden shift into playfulness and lets himself get pulled along to the couch. Noctis tosses pillows against the couch arm, fluffing them up with one handed smacks. He pushes Ignis down until he’s reclined against the cushions and climbs onto the couch with him.

“N-Noct?” Ignis asks, heart leaping out of his chest when Noctis rests his head against it.

“Just… stay,” Noct mumbles.

And so Ignis does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ARTIST: silvertiger  
> [Please don't forget to show her some love here!](https://twitter.com/tiger_o_matic/status/1221265793012379650)  
> **   
> 


	7. The Amorous Consort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note that I've updated the fic rating from 'M' to 'E' to warn for sexual content!**

Noctis sighs and Ignis pulls back to admire the curve of black lashes fanning over his cheeks, his perfectly bowed lips red and swollen from Ignis’ thorough attention.

_Ramuh above, he’s a temptation,_ Ignis thinks breathlessly, cupping his jaw and marvelling at the softness of his cheek, the way his mouth parts if Ignis presses with his thumb _just so_.

A long, drawn out moan escapes the television’s speakers, and they jump apart. Noctis groans in embarrassment, burying his face into Ignis’ shoulder. “Oh, Gods.”

“I can’t believe you purchased pornography of your own ancestor,” Ignis murmurs, using the opportunity to nose his way along the hot flush travelling down Noctis’ neck.

On the screen, the Clever is divesting his Queen of her clothing, the camera panning on her ample chest as the cheap costume dress falls away, leaving her completely bare. The actors cry out in exaggerated delight as they fall together, the camera zooming in on their nude bodies. The film doesn’t seem to care much for historical accuracy; there’s a phone on the bedside table, and red neon lights flashing in through the window. And of course, he can’t be sure, but Ignis has never read any accounts that the Clever possessed a tattooed heart encapsulating the name ‘Terry’ on his left butt cheek.

It’s unsurprising that such a film had been created in the image of _The Clever_ and his chosen wife. The story of King Darius and Queen Elyse’s love story is infamous throughout the kingdom for the way they’d snuck out of the kingdom to elope in the adjacent lands of Galahd. Meanwhile, amongst the staff, they’d been notorious for their amorous adventures around the Citadel. There’d been an especially steamy encounter within the old chocobo stables described within their chapter of _The Loves of Lucis_ , that never fails to make Ignis’ ears burn. 

“I thought it was a movie about him falling in love with Elyse! You’re always reading that damned red book about the old kings, I thought you’d like it,” Noctis growls, diving down to nip at Ignis’ collarbone.

“It’s called _The Clever’s Titillating Wedding Night_ ,” Ignis chuckles and then gasps, gripping the soft, black spikes of hair as the prince bites down particularly hard.

In any case, the old King has the right idea. Ignis returns his attention to his prince, slipping a hand beneath Noct’s collar. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it from his arms and tossing it over the couch to join his own.

Once free, Noctis pins Ignis onto the couch with hands on both of his shoulders, bringing their hips flush, the hot brand of each other’s arousal apparent through their pants. Ignis sucks in another breath, Noct’s weight and warmth on top of him sending pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Ugh, just shut up and make out with me,” Noctis demands, leaning in until they’re nose-to-nose.

“As you wish,” Ignis answers, leaning up to kiss the prince’s pout away.

He’d come over earlier at the prince’s invitation, surprised to find rows and rows of handmade sushi, topped with various fish and sauces laid out upon the table. Noctis had fidgeted nervously across from him, rambling on about the ingredients in each piece, how the sushi restaurant helped him select the fish, how he’d invented his own rolls because he’d thought Ignis would enjoy them.

Ignis’ heart had been warm as they’d refilled each other’s cups with sake, their plates gradually emptying as the shimmering paper stars that Noctis had unearthed from his room in the Citadel twirled above them.

Dinner had been wonderful.

The movie… well. Ignis can chalk that up as a happy accident.

Their hands explore freely, Noctis eagerly touching every inch of Ignis he can reach, while Ignis’ hands slowly skim over soft, warm skin, tracing Noct’s ribs and the muscles of his back. Noct surges forward for another kiss, heedless of the awkward angle and the sharp bite of teeth.

After Ignis’ glasses dig into the bridge of his nose the second time, an irritated growl escapes the prince. Sensing his frustration, Ignis gently cups Noct’s face and pulls him back.

“Noct, we’re not racing your ancestors to the finish line. It’s alright to slow down.”

Noctis freezes, pulling away with reddened cheeks. He laughs nervously as he tugs apologetically at Ignis’ glasses.

“Right. Um.” Noct sits back, looking to Ignis with the same hopeful, wide eyes that had asked him for help with assignments and lessons. Despite Ignis’ uninterest in other lovers over the years, he curses his own inexperience. For his prince, Ignis wishes he could hold all the answers. At the very least, he has countless daydreams to pull from, somewhere the two of them could start. He’s longed to close the distance between their lips each time Noct had fallen asleep so innocently upon his chest.

Heart fluttering, Ignis slowly draws Noct back, easing their lips together with the lightest touch. Noctis is trembling, shuddering with impatience, but he stays still, waiting for Ignis’ instruction. Pleased, Ignis brushes his thumb over the prince’s cheek before pressing in more closely, coaxing Noct’s lips apart with his own. 

Noctis immediately melts into his embrace, following his lead. A few more quiet _snicks_ of their lips and they fall into a comfortable pace together, lost in each other’s kisses.

Every stroke of their tongues sends jolts of electricity through his body, frying and fizzling any rational thoughts. Every kiss, every touch is more amazing than he’d dreamed. Ignis had never thought he could have this.

Suddenly, the repeated shrill screaming of “ _Majesty! Oohhhh Majesty!”_ fills the air, and the rhythmic thumping of a rickety bed has Noctis tearing away from Ignis and scrambling for the remote upon the coffee table.

“How do I turn this Astrals damned thing _off_ _–“_

Already missing Noct’s warm weight on top of him, Ignis follows Noctis’ quest with an impatient frown, keeping hold of his elbow lest he wander too far.

The adventurous lovers onscreen seem to have finished with the bed and have tumbled out onto the open balcony when finally, the screen goes black. In the blissful silence that follows, both men sigh in relief.

“I’m going to burn it,” Noctis declares, glaring at the movie player, throwing the remote aside.

“Don’t be too hasty, Highness. The box indicates two more hours of screen time. It could prove educational,” Ignis says, huffing out a pleased groan when Noctis returns to straddle him. He loses the thread of his teasing amidst the sharp, little gasps Noctis makes as he rolls his hips down.

“I think I could benefit from a more hands-on approach…”

At this point, Ignis couldn’t agree more. It’s difficult to miss the evidence of their arousal as they move against each other. Noctis follows a haphazard rhythm, gritting his teeth to maintain control when the pleasure overwhelms him. His thighs are trembling when he pauses, staring down at Ignis with uncertainty.

“Ignis, I…” His eyebrows knit together, searching for the words. “I want – ”

Capturing his hands, Ignis presses a soft, reassuring kiss to each one. “It’s okay.”

Ignis guides those hands onto his shoulders, allowing Noctis to find purchase there as Ignis takes hold of Noctis’ waist and rolls up to meet him, grinding their erections together.

“Good. That’s perfect, Noct.”

It’s bliss. They move together, eager for the friction between their bodies and falling fast to each wave of new sensation, to the thrill of having _this_ with each other.

Ignis slips a hand beneath the prince’s waistband, wrapping his fingers around firm, hot flesh. He wants nothing more right now than to have the prince come undone by his hand. 

“Ah,” Noctis cries out, biting his lip as Ignis’ grip tightens. Every pull of Ignis’ fist draws a strangled moan, Noctis thrusting into Ignis’ tight grip until he shakes apart, spilling over Ignis’ hand. As Noctis tips over that sweet precipice, Ignis is helplessly chasing his own pleasure as he rolls his hips, but it’s the choked-off calls of _IgnisIgnisIgnis_ falling from the prince’s lips that sends him tumbling to his own completion.

Noctis collapses onto him, settling his cheek upon Ignis’ bare chest in a stickier, less clothed imitation of their usual couch sessions. Panting for air, Ignis wraps his arms around the prince, pulling him closer to nuzzle the crown of his head, the wild tufts of his dark hair. The air smells of sweat, of sex, of _them_ , and it appeals to some deeper, baser level that Ignis won’t admit to aloud.

He knows that they should clean up their mess, save the couch from the evidence of their activities. His pants are already uncomfortably damp, and at the very least, he should wipe away the slick between his fingers, but he can’t be rushed from Noctis’ arms right now.

“This certainly isn’t how I imagined how this evening would end,” he muses.

“My surprise was kind of a flop,” Noctis admits. “But… this is better. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Ignis stares up at the ceiling. He feels light, dizzy with the realization that he can truly have this – have _Noctis_ , willing and spent in his embrace. “Every time you’d climb into my arms and nod off on the couch, I wanted to coax you awake with my lips upon yours. Though truly, if we’d never ventured past those naps together, I would have been happy. The rest of it – the pleasure we shared this evening… it’s more than I could have asked for.”

Noctis groans, wiggling his hips against Ignis. “How can you be so cheesy and so hot at the same time?”

Ignis laughs, squeezing Noctis briefly.

“Says the one who had claimed my first kiss.”

“I’m pretty sure _you_ kissed _me,_ Specs,” Noctis retorts, reaching up to fix the skew of Ignis’ glasses once again. Despite himself, and despite the events of the last few hours, remembering his earlier boldness makes heat flare across Ignis’ cheeks. He may have gotten carried away, but he regrets nothing.

He clears his throat and shakes his head.

“That’s not the kiss I’m referring to,” he says, pointing above them where the paper stars hang from Noctis’ apartment ceiling. Noct frowns and follows his gaze, watching for a moment as the stars slowly spin and catch the light of the nearby lamps. His eyes widen.

“You remember that?”

“I do.”

His statement hangs in the air for a moment, the memory of their childhood kiss giving way to the innocent question that had been poised beforehand.

With a thoughtful hum, Noctis slips out of Ignis’ hold and sits onto the couch, feet bare against the carpet.

“Noctis?” Ignis asks, rising to sit as well.

Noctis takes a deep breath. “Can I show you something?”

Confused, Ignis nods, even more bewildered when Noctis kneels next to the couch, leaning down to reach a hand into the gap.

He pulls out a red book, and for a moment, Ignis thinks it’s another copy of _The Loves of Lucis_. Then, he recognizes the golden sylleblossom pattern on the cover.

_Lady Lunafreya’s notebook._

His heart stops. Why would Noctis be showing him this? Ignis had never been privy to its contents before. While he would occasionally see Noctis writing into it before handing it off to the divine messenger, Noctis had never shared details of his correspondence with the Oracle.

Noctis would usually be in lighter-spirits after each letter, and although curiosity burned in his chest, Ignis had never wanted to pry. Also knowing how Noctis cared for the captive princess, a part of Ignis had been afraid of the potential answer.

Noctis glances at Ignis before standing and walking to the bathroom. He returns with a damp cloth, handing it to Ignis for clean-up as he returns to the couch, their knees knocking together as the cushion dips.

Settling the book onto his lap, Noctis flips through the pages, allowing Ignis to catch glimpses of postcards, stickers, and photographs stuck to the pages. Small notes accompany each item: inked messages in elegant cursive and a familiar scrawl. Ignis’ eyebrows raise when he notices a majority of the photographs are of himself. One, he recognizes from the previous month, in which he’s holding his most recent batch of Noctis’ tarts, blueberry filling covered in powdered sugar.

Noctis stops upon reaching the middle of the book, where a simple envelope is wedged in-between the pages.

“This is for you,” Noctis says, handing him the envelope. There’s no name, or address – and the seal is broken.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, curiosity and confusion driving him to open it immediately. Within the envelope is a folded letter, accompanied by a photograph of a tall, older man with his greying hair swept back into a pompadour, his familiar green eyes sparkling as he smiles at the camera. The woman in his arms is smiling as well, the grey streaks within her dirty-blonde hair only accentuating her beauty. His eyes sting as he takes in their faces, their happiness, it’d been so long since he’s see those smiles. His parents have aged wonderfully.

He looks to Noctis in shock, a thousand questions upon his tongue, but the prince only shakes his head, and pushes the letter back into his hands.

Ignis unfolds the letter with trembling fingers, his mother’s familiar handwriting sending a pang through his chest.

_My dearest Ignis_ , the letter starts. His mother writes that she and his father have been in good health, and that they’re safe despite the constant presence of Niflheim’s soldiers through the streets. The Lucian Embassy in Tenebrae is now defunct, so they’ve switched into the Oracle’s service, helping coordinate Lady Lunafreya’s envoys throughout her journeys to cure the Scourge.

_Please tell His Highness ‘thank you’ for all the photographs over the years. Your father and I hope that we will all be reunited one day. You’ve grown into such a handsome and incredibly capable young man. We are so proud of you, my darling boy._

_We love and miss you so much. Please send our love to dear Sol._

  1. _Please also tell His Highness that he is adorable. And that he has our blessing._



“…How?” he asks Noctis in disbelief, touching the photograph. He’d never doubted that his parents could thrive, even in the midst of a war. After all, they had each other.

“Luna helped me,” Noctis says. “She tracked them down and hired them as consultants. She’s been forwarding some of my letters to them through the notebook. But she has to be careful though, none of them can afford to be caught communicating with me.”

Hearing how the Oracle has taken care of his parents, Ignis can’t help but feel gratitude towards the princess he’s never met.

“But why did you – ” Ignis waves a hand, trying to encompass the enormity of the gesture.

“Because they’re your parents. If I couldn’t bring them back, I wanted to at least make sure they’re taken care of. And… I needed their blessing.”

The post script had mentioned as much, niggling at the back of Ignis’ mind.

“For what?”

Noctis’ hand rubs the back of his neck, a bright red flush unfolding across his face.

“To woo their son.”

A shock of laughter escapes from Ignis’ mouth, and he moves quickly to cover it, breathing through his hand. Noctis did this. Noctis has found his parents and had asked for their permission to court him. Staring at the prince in stunned disbelief, Ignis’ chest bursts with such endless affection. Words cannot do justice to the swell of emotion he’s feeling.

Without hesitation, he captures Noct’s face between his hands and pulls - Noctis’ sharp inhale of surprise quickly gives way to the kiss, throwing his arms around Ignis’ neck as their lips melt against each other.

When they part, breathless and panting, Ignis is smiling. He’d sworn long ago to stay by Noctis’ side. The truth of it is, he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. He wants nothing more from the world.

Those beloved blue eyes shine with determination as Noctis takes Ignis’ hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

“Okay Specs. Next time. Dinner and a real movie. Prepare to be wooed properly.”

Ignis steals another kiss from those treasured lips. And then another. And then another.

“I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S/O to twitter for naming 'The Clever's' tattoo, 'Terry' ;)


	8. The Chosen King's Engagement

Glancing at his watch, Ignis looks to the firmly closed door once again.

“Wonder what’s taking him so long?” Prompto asks, moving to stand by an empty armchair. He taps his foot and fidgets with his sleeve, clearly uncomfortable with the finery he’s been dressed in.

“Sit down, kid. The seat’s not gonna bite you,” Gladio says from where he’s lounging in the opposite chair, relaxed and unconcerned. Having grown up in the ranks of high nobility had provided him with ample opportunity to become accustomed to suits and cumbersome ceremonial clothing. The Shield at least has his newest romantic thriller novel to distract himself while they wait.

“I can’t do that! What if it wrinkles, or something.” Prompto laughs nervously, straightening up from the slouch he’d started to sink into.

Prompto’s outfit is modest – a slim, black suit with trim pants that stop short of his ankles. It’s no doubt more expensive than any clothing he’s ever owned, but his nervousness is unnecessary.

“It may be a formal occasion, but we still have to be prepared to fight. It’s Niflheim we are dealing with after all, so it may well be an ambush,” Ignis says. “The Citadel’s tailors will have seen to the outfit’s durability.”

Prompto’s face pales at the mention of fighting, his fingers nervously twirling the golden cufflink of his suit jacket. “Ye -yeah. Great. That’s comforting. So, I don’t have to worry about creases, just bulletproofing then.”

He ends the last few words with increasing hysteria, falling into abashed silence after catching sight of Ignis’ raised brow.

Gladio waves the complaint away. “Relax. It’s literally a peace-keeping mission. Get in, get out, easy. And you’ve been training with Cor, yeah?” Gladio reminds him. “You’ll be fine as long as you stick by us. I could probably fit both you and Prince Scrawny behind my shield.”

Ignis rolls his eyes, refraining from countering that rather unfair assessment of the prince. To Gladio, everyone else must seem small and scrawny. With his tall stature and wide shoulders and torso, Gladio’s own suit must have been a task to make. Especially with the expensive silks and fabrics necessary for someone of House Amicitia. To represent his duty as Shield, the tailors had also included a light silver eagle motif upon the jacket’s shoulder, designed to match his tattoo, the beak opening upon the emblem of the Crownsguard on his chest.

Prompto looks between them, looking queasy and unconvinced. It makes Ignis wonder why the boy had agreed to come in the first place.

As the prince’s advisor and the prince’s shield, Ignis and Gladio had been naturally chosen for the mission. They’d been surprised when Noctis recruited Prompto to complete their retinue, and even more surprised when the Marshall had approved it. A trip to accompany Noctis as Crown Prince will be different than evenings eating pizza and challenging each other to arcade games. Not to mention the potential danger of the beasts and daemons they could encounter. The four of them barely had any combat training as a unit, much less than Ignis is comfortable with.

Unfortunately, time isn’t on their side.

The clock marks fifteen minutes, and Ignis’ gaze is drawn to Noctis’ bedroom door once again. The anxiety prickling beneath his skin makes him restless, and he pretends not to notice the concerned glances exchanged between the other two, instead turning away to face the windows to avoid their scrutiny. Though Ignis and Noctis had never officially come out to their friends, Ignis suspects they’d known enough about them. Their unasked questions hang heavily in the air, too difficult to give voice to.

For now, they wait for the prince, the three of them have gathered in Noctis’ sitting room in the citadel, having just finished their sessions with the royal tailor.

Each of them outfitted for Noctis’ wedding in Altissia.

The wedding that will end the war and take Noctis away from Ignis forever.

_Damn the Empire_.

He stares down at the lines of cars, the bustling sidewalks of people, the never-ending stretch of buildings that make up their city, their home. There had never been a choice, Noctis is bound to his duty. As much as Noctis shies away from the crown, Noctis could never… would never choose to endanger the lives of his people.

Ignis sighs and straightens the lapel of his own suit tuxedo-style suit jacket. It follows the long lines of him quite closely, complimenting the breadth of his shoulders and the tuck of his waist. The suit is made of night sky black paired with a deep blue waistcoat, both devoid of any noble house emblems. His only special request: the silken handkerchief, folded into a flower and tucked in place over his heart, dotted with golden patterns against a particular shade of heartbreaking blue.

If the tailors had picked up on anything, they’d kept silent on the matter.

After a few more minutes with a silent, closed door, Ignis adjusts his glasses and stands. He can sense Gladio and Prompto’s stares as he crosses the room. None of them are eager to rush Noctis on this matter, unfortunately, there is a schedule to keep, and the suits are due to be returned for final adjustments soon.

“Highness?” Ignis calls out, knuckles rapping on the door twice. “Do you require –”

He’s abruptly cut off as the door swings open, and Noctis steps out.

“Oh, _wow_.”

“Heh. So you _can_ look like a real prince.”

Noctis ducks his head and scratching the back of his neck, a light flush gracing his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah.”

Rooted to the floor, Ignis opens his mouth to add to the teasing but closes it again lest it utterly betray his true thoughts.

Noctis is beautiful.

The suit fits his slender form perfectly. At a glance, the outfit appears simple: the customary black jacket, golden buttons lining the centre, and a ribbon tie upon the collar. But with his every movement, the details come to light, the luxurious sheen of the dark fabric, the golden sash hanging across his torso shimmering with circular motifs of the royal family.

It’s unfair for him to be so handsome. Instead of his usual spikes, the prince’s hair is combed down, swept to the side. He looks gallant. The prince charming in all the childhood stories.

Ignis wants him more than anything in this world.

He watches distantly as Gladio gets up to clap Noctis on the back, Prompto circling them and threatening Noctis with his camera.

In-between dodging the other two, Noctis searches Ignis out, his deep blue eyes trying to gauge his reaction.

Ignis forces a smile, the false cheer straining his cheeks and his aching heart. Yet, he can’t help but be sincere. “Impressive, your Highness.”

Noctis nods, rosy spots high on his cheeks as he fiddles with the edges of his white gloves.

“Thanks, Iggy.”

~ ~ ~

“Gladio and Prompto have gone ahead to return their suits.”

Ignis steps into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It has been a long while since he’s been here, but it’s as lavishly decorated as he remembers. The memories of their childhood litter the room. How many times had he slept over? Their nights spent with the wrinkled pages of his astronomy book open between them. And then afterwards, nights spent clinging to each other tightly when the dark of sleep brought terrors too frightening to face alone.

The bed had been too big, even for two children. But now, the expanse of the sheets seems too small, too intimate for the future days when Noctis will not be returning to this room alone.

This bed, this room, will know another, and it’s… inappropriate for Ignis to dwell on.

Noctis is standing in front of the floor length mirror, still in the full glory of his wedding attire. Even in the dim city lights shining through the windows, it’s as if Noctis is lit by a spotlight. Ignis joins his side, smiling sadly at their reflection encompassed within the mirror’s ornate gilded frame.

Noct’s eyes widen at the sight of them, his gaze going glassy before he turns away.

“You… look really good,” Noctis says in a tone meant to be cheerful landing somewhere in the valley of miserable guilt. He’s still not meeting Ignis’ eyes. He hasn’t done so for the last few days. If it’s guilt, Ignis thinks he understands. Though the Empire had demanded this concession, Noctis must still feel relieved to marry Lady Lunafreya. They’re fortunate enough to care for each other, which is already a more fortunate circumstance than most arranged marriages.

It leaves Ignis in a liminal space, knowing that this will all have to end. He knows that once Noctis speaks those vows of marriage, the prince would never break them, even if it meant giving up his true heart’s desire. And Ignis could never ask him to.

Swallowing painfully, Ignis bows to their reflection.

“And you look stunning, Highness,” Ignis says. Then, with his aching heart in his throat, he whispers, “Breathtaking. Like I’ve always dreamed, Noct.”

Noct’s breath hitches, and deep blue steadily meets green for the first time since the peace treaty had been announced. “Always?”

“Since I can remember.”

His wedding portrait will be the shining glory of the Citadel’s halls. Noct’s page in future volumes of _The Loves of Lucis_ will be as beautiful as he’d imagined. _The Chosen King of Lucis_. _Beloved by all._ Though the one who’d loved him most would hardly warrant a mention, there’s no room for mere advisors in perfect love stories.

“I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous… to assume that I’d be the one at your side but…”

The prince’s white-gloved hand clutches his, his blue eyes ablaze with fierce intensity. “You will be.”

“Yes,” Ignis says, squeezing Noct’s hand in return. “As your right-hand man, I will be.” It’s a gentle reminder, its painful truth tearing him up inside.

He regards their elegant reflection once more, the way Noctis fits at his side. Even he has to admit that they make quite a pair. In his imagination, they would stand like this upon the platform of the throne, King Regis presiding over their ceremony. Their friends would be gathered around them, and the Kingdom would watch as he and Noctis spoke their vows over their joined hands.

“I’m sorry. If I had the choice…” Noct’s eyes shine, the city lights sparkling within them. “I…”

Ignis lifts the prince’s hand to his lips, kissing them firmly. “We’ve always known that you must bear the burden of royalty.”

“Yeah, but you have to know. I would have… I would have asked you.” Noctis pauses, struggling with the weight of his thoughts. “If you…?”

Noct touches Ignis’ unadorned ring finger, and the room blurs, Ignis’ eyes fall shut to catch any stray tears. 

“Oh Noct,” Ignis whispers. “I would. Without question. I have always been yours, dear heart.”

Ignis reaches for him, resting their foreheads together. Noctis whispers across the short breath separating their lips. “Tell me about them. Your dreams.”

Ignis hums, images forming a vivid scene upon the landscape of his mind. He’s imagined it so often, it could be a memory. “It would be held at night, underneath our favourite constellations. The ceremony would be short because I know you have no patience for ritual. I’ve written our vows ahead of time, but you,” Ignis smiles, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You ignore them. You speak from your heart, finding your way with your own words. The throne room is in tears.”

“Insomnia would hear my vows to uphold the crown, but in truth, every promise is to you alone. There would flowers at the altar that try and fail to match the brilliance of your eyes. There would be the cake I’ve designed and the quartet you’ve hired. There would be –”

“ – you.”

Fingers caress his cheek, the callouses of years of sword-fighting rough upon his skin. Ignis freezes and opens his eyes.

“There would be you,” Noctis says again. Glove held tightly in his opposite hand, Noctis runs his bare fingers over his jaw, softly smiling at him. He doesn’t say more, but Ignis hears him all the same.

_I would have chosen you_.

Ignis’ heart beats loudly, the pain and the anguish swirling together like a hurricane within his chest. “What did I say? Not a dry eye in the room.”

“It’s your cheesiness. It’s catching,” Noctis says, a half-hearted smile upon his lips.

“I’ve found it’s an essential ingredient when it comes to stirring hearts,” Ignis says.

“I still don’t have a ring,” Noctis says, holding Ignis’ left hand regretfully. “Dad kept Mom’s ring, you know? He wears it around his neck when we go visit her every year. I’m pretty sure he’s saving it for when I get married.” Shaking his head, Ignis leans in to press a lingering kiss to the prince’s forehead. What more can a ring do, when every part of Ignis’ heart and soul belong to the man in front of him?

The sun begins to sink into the horizon, disappearing behind the towers of the cityscape, casting deep orange and purple across the sky.

Their time is up.

“Come then, Highness. We should return these clothes. The tailors have to complete their final adjustments.”

Ignis holds out his hands, ready to receive the prince’s jacket. But Noctis doesn’t move.

“I see. Very well, Lord Chamberlain… Master Advisor,” Noctis says as haughtily as he can manage, nose stuck in the air and mouth twitching with amusement. He lifts his arms up, holding them in the air. “Help me out of these clothes.”

Ah. Ignis sighs with a heavily put-upon expression, raising a dutiful hand over his heart.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

He starts with the sash, slowly lifting the loop above Noct’s head, as the prince moves his arms out of the way. The prince’s heavy gaze follows his every movement with unblinking intensity, his eyes dragging over Ignis’ body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Ignis schools his expression, pretending to be unaffected as he folds the sash over his arm and sets it upon the sitting chair by the mirror.

He returns to his task, sliding his hands beneath the smooth suit jacket, palms flat over the firm plane of Noct’s chest. He drags his hands up before slipping the jacket from his shoulders, leaving Noctis in his fitted, silver-white dress shirt. The fabric shines upon his pale skin, accentuating his already fae-like beauty.

Ignis has always enjoyed seeing Noctis in finery; as much as the prince hates the restrictive nature of formalwear, the lavish materials look at home upon his toned, slight figure. His perfect skin and the fine features of his handsome face are wonderfully suited for opulence. It’s ridiculous to want to spoil a man who has the luxuries of the world at his fingertips, but if Ignis had his way, he would discard the sweat pants and baggy shirts, and Noctis would be draped in nothing but the finest cloths and jewels.

Noctis makes an impatient noise as Ignis carefully drapes the jacket over the back of the chair. Ignis hushes him.

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

Noct’s hand covers his own, leading his fingers to the pearlescent buttons of his shirt.

“Maybe you should.”

Ignis’ breath catches.

If it had been their wedding night, he would have had no qualms, the buttons would decorate the floor, followed by every other article of their clothing. The fine fit of Noctis’ suit must have been designed to be torn away by a lover’s passion, to serve its purpose in the ceremony, then on the ground. The wedding ceremony hadn’t been the only thing Ignis had dreams for.

They would have been lucky to make it to the bed by their third round.

But this is not their night, and Noctis is not his husband. Yet, the temptation simmers away in his veins and Ignis unravels with every button that comes undone. How many times have they littered the apartment with their clothes in their haste to undress? How often has Noctis been vulnerable and bare, falling apart for his eyes alone?

“Ignis…” Their fingers meet over the final button, pleading deep blue meeting defenseless bright green. As the shirt floats to the ground, Noctis guides Ignis away from the mirror, falling backwards onto the bed and pulling Ignis on top of him. Arms tighten around him, and Ignis falls into Noct’s embrace, weak and willing when he’s dragged down for a kiss. With Ignis distracted by the enticing swipe of the prince’s tongue, Noctis starts to part Ignis’ own suit, slipping them off his shoulders. His suit jacket, his waist coat and his shirt are thrown aside, Noctis taking significantly less care with Ignis’ attire.

It’s alright, Ignis can face the tailor’s wrath… he can face anyone if it means having Noctis like this.

There’s a part of Ignis that is pleased that it’s his touch that Noctis arches for, that his touch had been the first to draw pleasure from the prince who owns his heart. He feels smug knowing their passions have been marked upon the other’s skin in ways that cannot fade or disappear with the steamy cascade of morning-after showers.

With a spray of blue sparks, Noctis hurriedly pushes a familiar bottle into Ignis’ hands as he divests himself of the remainder of his clothes.

“Want you,” he says, urgency threading his voice. Noctis lies back, spread bare upon the bed that had witnessed their innocent beginnings. To say goodbye to this chapter of themselves here, in Noctis’ childhood room, seems only fitting.

Ignis desperately wants all of him, at once. If Ignis is only to be remembered as a lover, if there is no chapter for him in the _Loves of Lucis,_ then he will endeavour to be the best, as he always will for his prince.

He draws back with the bottle, trailing his lips reverently over trembling thighs, finding solace in the soft skin. He presses open-mouthed kisses to hot, aroused flesh as his slick fingers find the space he wants to occupy, the shivery sighs and whimpers filling the air only spurring him on.

The bite of Noct’s fingernails digging like claws into Ignis’ scalp and back keep him grounded as they join, Ignis sinking in until their hips are flush. Noct’s head is thrown back, gasping as if Ignis has pushed all the air from his lungs. Ignis traces the pounding pulse with the edge of his teeth, the heated friction of their bodies driving his desire.

He watches Noctis’ eyes go round and dazed with every hard thrust, the downturn of his lips when he thinks he’s _too full_ or _too empty_. Ignis chases every reaction, every moment with selfish determination. He wants to commit every gasp, every flutter of lashes to memory, not wanting a single breath to slip away from him. It’ll be something to keep for himself, for when the ceremonies are over and he’s only left with phantom touches and the haunting recollection of being whole, once.

“I love you,” he tells Noctis, whispers it fiercely into the sweaty strands of midnight hair, says it with every desperate drive of his hips. He wants to leave a mark where no treaty, no wedding vow can erase him.

When they fall apart together, with Ignis buried deep and Noctis clinging to him tightly, the moment feels eternal. As if time has stopped for them, sympathetic to the hourglass sand that slips through their mortal fingers.

Ignis doesn’t think he can let go.


	9. CXIV

Ignis steps over broken concrete, glass crackling underneath his boot as he walks. The formerly majestic black and gold of the walls left standing amidst the destruction are dusty with debris. The citadel’s royal quarters have been ransacked, likely one of the key targets during the Empire’s invasion, in the search for the prince and his retainers.

They’d been well on their way to Galdin Quay by then.

His feet take him to a familiar double doorway, the doorknobs smashed in, and half the wood of the right-hand side splintered apart and hanging by one hinge. He pushes the remnants aside and crosses the threshold.

It’s a mess inside. The room’s outer wall facing Insomnia is all but a gaping hole, the glass from the shattered windows scattered around the carpet, only the bent spindly bases of their rusted frames remain. The closet doors ripped from their frames, shelves and small items of clothing strewn about. Noctis’ childhood bed lies within a pile of rubble, the elegant posts snapped in half.

In contrast, the boxes Noctis had moved from his apartment before they’d left Insomnia are still in the corner, stacked neatly and waiting for his return, all remarkably intact. He wipes the dust off the closest box, sighing as the streak reveals _‘kitchen (Ignis)’_ written in thick black marker upon the side. The box next to it is also labelled with his name, but with no accompanying descriptor. He summons a dagger to his hand, slicing carefully through the packing tape and lifts the lid open.

The stars he’d made as a child lay upon an assortment of Ignis’ old clothes – shirts and boxers that had made their way into Noctis’ wardrobe. He lifts one of the stars gently, the faded, yellowing paper fragile in his hands, the glitter easily breaking off like dust.

They crack and fall apart in his hands, school glue and construction paper failing to withstand the test of time. No one would have expected any differently, but he still can’t help but mourn their loss. Since then, he and Noctis have experienced a whole sky full of stars outside the wall, the heavens stretching ever onwards. But it’s under _these_ stars that a young prince once proposed to him, and kissed him, and then kissed him again.

Alone in the dark night, with only the vision of his King impaled upon his throne playing behind his eyes, he had used the bright instances of their time together beneath paper stars to force the cursed fate from his mind.

And now he holds all that remains of those precious memories. One by one, he sets their pieces down to rest one last time, closing the box.

A distant shout turns Ignis’ attention towards the city.

The horizon is streaked with orange, the first rays of dawn stretching across the skyline behind the half-demolished buildings and towers. Even from here, he can see the bustling action within the ruins of Insomnia. Most of these people had likely awoken even earlier, ready to greet the sun’s light after being without it for so long.

Ignis chuckles, the new world is full of morning people.

“There’s that skylight I’ve always wanted.”

Ignis’ heart leaps. It had been a long ten years in the darkness without that precious voice, save for the dreams that had always ended too soon, and the taunting calls of daemons - an extra gift for the King’s retinue, courtesy of the Accursed.

He turns to see Noctis stepping over the rubble of the doorway. Noctis makes a dashing figure in the fitted suit of his kingly attire. His black hair has grown out, long enough to be tucked behind his ear where his crown sits. There’s a lingering weariness to his eyes, inherited from his time in the crystal, and the stress of defeating Ardyn. Yet he’s still the most beautiful man Ignis has ever seen, the only sight that could captivate Ignis more than the rising sun.

“Here I was, hoping to surprise a certain someone with breakfast in bed, only to find they’ve disappeared.”

Chuckling, Ignis bows his head.

“Ah, apologies Majesty. You were missing when I woke, I had assumed you’d gone to survey the damage around the Citadel.”

Noctis lifts a bag, the distinct logo of the two black cans inside clearly visible through the plastic.

“Ebony?” Ignis asks, astonished. “I thought the supply had diminished long ago.”

“Stopped by the kitchens. Back when – before - I’d asked them to keep a supply on hand for you in the fridges,” Noctis says, handing him a can, the _Ebony_ logo staring up at Ignis like a long-lost friend. “There’s still a few cases in there and the expiry date’s still good. Try not to go through all of them at once though, not sure when we’ll be able to get the company back up and running.”

“Hardly a priority.” Ignis shakes his head. “Thank you, Noctis.”

He tabs the can open right away, letting the familiar aroma waft out, sighing as the perfect notes of bitterness and caffeine grace his tongue. Perhaps he _should_ look into re-establishing the Ebony coffeemakers. Noctis watches his eagerness with an indulgent smile before trying a sip of his own, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

Lost in their drinks, they sit by the ledge watching the sunrise, Ignis holding tight to Noctis’ hand in case there are any more undue accidents. He’s only just gotten his King back, he intends to keep him. Noctis allows it, perhaps sensing that Ignis’ hovering is a by-product of ten years’ separation, and of almost – _almost_ losing Noctis again.

“A lot has changed since we were last here,” Noctis says, staring out into the city.

Ignis follows his gaze. “Yes. But we can rebuild. Insomnia will be glorious once again.”

Noctis hums.

“I never thought I would get to see it.” His voice trails off, lost in what could have been.

“I was adamant that you would be here to witness it. You have a kingdom to run.”

Noctis laughs.

“You’re a very stubborn man. Has anyone told you that you take the role of King’s advisor a little too seriously?”

It’s Ignis’ turn to smile. “I’m afraid my reasons had been entirely selfish.”

“You almost paid the worst price,” Noctis says, gaze falling to the stray scars that cover Ignis’ face. Remnants of the power that had burned through him when the Ring of the Lucii had flared bright upon on his finger. It seems even the magic of the crystal that Noctis had called upon couldn’t completely erase the sacrifice he had so willingly made.

“I would have paid any price.” There’s no use hiding it from Noctis now, not after all they’ve done to overthrow the prophecy.

“I wouldn’t have let you. Ignis…” Noctis swallows, shaking his head. “If I show you something, will you promise not to run off to fight any more immortal beings? Gods included?”

“Perhaps.”

Noctis pulls his hand away to rifle through the other bag, and pulls out a single, red book. He takes a deep breath, then holds out the book, _The Loves of Lucis_ reflecting the dawn’s light in shining gold letters across the cover. Ignis takes it, tracing a finger along the well-worn spine. Another artefact of days long gone. He hasn’t seen this since they’d left Insomnia.

“From my office…?”

“Yeah. I’m probably getting ahead of myself but… I took the liberty of making a few important additions.”

Confused, Ignis turns the book over again. The aging red of the cover remains unchanged, then he spots it. In faint black marker beneath the title: _Revised Edition_.

Upon further investigation, he notices an additional leaflet has been added to the end, the page slightly longer than the rest of the book. Turning to the end, Ignis’ breath catches in his throat.

Taped onto the page is a faded photograph, Noctis is in his wedding suit, mid-laugh and half-recoiling from a clap on the back. It’s from the day of the fitting, a stolen moment captured by Prompto. The Noctis in the photograph is smiling at Ignis, dressed in his own wedding attire.

 _Gods_ , Ignis thinks as he takes in his own young, awestruck expression. Had he really failed to mask his affection for Noctis that much? The fondness and adoration is plain upon his face for anyone to see. In return, Noct’s eyes are bright with expectation, staring intently back at Ignis as if he’s the only person in the room.

And then he sees the chapter title.

_CXIV. Noctis Lucis Caelum and Ignis Lucis Caelum (formerly Scientia)_

_His love overturned fate, defeated the Gods, and saved the Chosen King._

_The best of men, the best of husbands._

Speechless, he reaches out with trembling fingers, touching the ‘ _and_ ’ between their names with reverence. Noctis takes that hand within both of his, and Ignis turns to him, losing himself in the depths of ocean blue.

“You’ve suffered a lot at my side, sacrificed too much…” Shaking his head again, Ignis’ vision blurs, throat tightening. “It would be selfish of me to ask more of you but…”

He’d taken down a city full of MTs, had survived the countless daemons that plagued the dark, and had defied Bahamut himself, but Ignis trembles as Noctis, his King, his love, his _Noct_ , lowers himself to one, braced knee.

“I proposed to you once… but I’ve got a ring to make it official this time.” Between Noctis’ fingers is a ring glittering with diamonds set into its dark surface. Stars upon the night sky. Ignis recognizes instantly from a portrait he’d passed by countless times on his way to and from the throne room. His heart pounds as Noctis holds up the ring that had previously graced Queen Aulea’s hand.

“I love you. Ignis Scientia, will you marry me?”

Slowly, Ignis sets the book aside, kneeling down to meet Noctis, grasping his outstretched hand between both of his.

“Noctis, my answer hasn’t changed. I have been yours since the day you first asked me for my hand.” With that, he guides Noctis back to standing, watching in disbelief as Noctis slips the leather glove from his fingers, replacing it with the weight of the ring. Its smooth, dark surface gleaming next to the jagged, faded scar encircling his middle finger. Two marks of devotion he will never shed.

His heart overflows with happiness as he cups Noct’s smooth jaw with his ungloved, newly adorned hand; the band of titanium cool against the combined warmth of their skin.

Noctis leans in slowly, but Ignis has long run out of patience for being coy. He loves this man with his entire being and he’s not waiting another moment, not wasting another second. He drags Noctis in by the lapel, breathing _‘yes’_ and ‘ _Noct’_ between their mouths. Every inch of him vibrating with joy.

The sounds of cheering are heard from far below. Laughing, Noctis pulls away, shaking his fist at the two familiar dark-haired and blond figures waving and whooping at them from the ground. Ignis should have the grace to be embarrassed, but he reels Noctis in for another kiss instead, holding him tight and dipping him as their small audience whistles and applauds.

They’re breathless when they part, excitement and happiness sparking between them as Noctis wraps his arms around Ignis’ neck, resting their foreheads together.

“So, about our wedding portrait…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you so much for reading! Your comments and support have been so amazing, and mean the world to me, thank you <3  
>   
> Big thank you again to my artist silvertiger <3 [Please be sure to check out their art (also found in Chapter 6!)](https://twitter.com/tiger_o_matic/status/1221265793012379650)  
>   
> Twitter: [@starrynoctsky](https://twitter.com/starrynoctsky/)


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